Audentes Fortuna Iuvat: The 100th Hunger Games
by petrificustotaloos
Summary: "To remind the people of Panem that even the wealthier members of our society are susceptible to entering the Hunger Games," President Heydrich reads, "This year's Quarter Quell's tributes will be picked among those who have not requested tesserae for their families. Volunteers will not be accepted." [SYOT]
1. Introduction & Form

**Agrippa Colman - Head Gamemaker**

The stench of death is everywhere, and Agrippa _loves_ it.

Her first Games have been a success. Her Arena made the competition all the more gripping and her mutts made the entire country shiver in fear, and she enjoyed every second of it. The District 3 boy ended up being the victor, and he has just gotten home from his Victor Tour. Which means it's time for the announcement of this year's Games.

Being Head Gamemaker during a Quarter Quell is all Aggripa dreamt of while growing up, and she can't quite believe she is standing right behind President Heydrich as he opens the yellow envelope that contains this Quell's theme. She can't see the President's face from where she is standing, but she can almost feel how a smile creeps up his generally stoic face as he reads the content of the golden paper.

"To remind the people of Panem that even the wealthier members of our society are susceptible to entering the Hunger Games," President Heydrich reads, "This year's Quarter Quell's tributes will be picked among those who have not requested tesserae for their families. Volunteers will not be accepted."

Someone coughs nervously behind Agrippa, but she simply grins and raises her chin in approval.

_May the odds be ever in these posh children's favour_, she thinks to herself.

* * *

**Hi! This is my first story on here so I'm really excited about it! Here are some rules that I wanted to share with you people before moving onto the forms and whatnot:**

**1\. Guests can submit but please leave a name so that I can address you if I ever need anything from you! Review submissions are fine, too; I plan on limiting the number of tributes per user to two, but I'll definitely consider allowing a third one in if they're really interesting.**

**2\. I will be accepting reservations but I may choose to prioritize other characters if they're interesting enough if it takes too long for you to submit your tribute — this isn't first-come-first-serve.**

**3\. Please no Mary Sues! It's okay to think outside the box and to submit tributes who don't fall into their District's stereotypes, but _please_ be realistic.**

**4\. Above anything else — have fun creating your tributes! :)**

**That being said, here's the submission form!**

Name:

Age:

District:

Appearance:

Personality:

Sexuality:

Family:

Friends:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Weapon of Choice:

Token:

Reaping Outfit:

Reaction to Reaping (remember, no volunteers):

Interview Outfit:

Interview Angle:

Private Session + Score:

Alliances?:

Romance?:

Strategy:

Preferred Placement:

**So that's it for now! I'll post a tribute list in a couple of days and will start typing the first reapings asap. I'm really excited for this one! :)**

**-S.**


	2. Tribute List

**District 1**

Male: Evander Luxx (15) — matts0688

Female: Celeste Duvall (18)— EliiLouise

**District 2**

Male: Marius Harlowe (17) — Andii99

Female: Dorcas Findlay (14) — RiversOfVenice

**District 3**

Male: Milo Tesla (18) — vandenburgs

Female: Sansa Winter (16) — Kay of Arda

**District 4**

Male: Kai Anderson (16) — LordWhyLordWhy

Female: Mercia Hollis (16) — cthonic python

**District 5**

Male: Jonas Slaine (12) — mylifeinafewpages

Female: Arya Wolf (15) — Kay of Arda

**District 6**

Male: Drew Coleson (16) — JustDrew

Female: Anouk Gainsbourg (16) — vandenburgs

**District 7**

Male: Edoardo "Eddie" Thame (18) — ElliiLouise

Female: Florence Maugham (17) — vandenburgs

**District 8**

Male: Dorian Galter (14) — cthonic python

Female: Theodora "Tee" Reynolds (12) — Myths and me

**District 9**

Male: Edward "Ted" Berninger (18) — cluelessclown

Female: Agnes Colman (17) — cluelessclown

**District 10**

Male: Fredrick "Fred" Blake (18) — cluelessclown

Female: Emmaline McArthur (16) — Andii99

**District 11**

Male: Cain Lewis (14) — ElliiLouise

Female: Casireida Lye (18) — a lonely mouse

**District 12**

Male: Seamus Hay (18) — LordWhyLordWhy

Female: Elizabeth Starr (15) — JustDrew


	3. Interlude - The Capitol

**Atticus Waterhouse**

**The Capitol, Age Ten**

* * *

Atticus almost feels a shiver of excitement when he wakes up in the morning. It's Reaping Day, which means his favorite time of the year is right around the corner. With an added twist, of course — the possibility of finally getting to witness a Quarter Quell with his own two eyes, and not simply by replaying the previous ones on his laptop before going to sleep. Atticus _lives_ for the Games, and always ends up becoming a die-hard supporter of one of those District children who are thrown into the Arena — he tends to feel sympathy towards those who come from wealthier Districts because they generally share his enthusiasm for the Games, but he has sometimes sided by one of the less popular tributes and laughed in delight when they had crowned themselves as Victors. Because, oh, seeing his favorite tribute win is the _greatest_ feeling in the world.

He grins at the way his mom smothers him with kisses as soon as he enters the kitchen. Their maid — an avox nicknamed 'Wilma' by his dad — has already made breakfast, and his mother is sitting at the table, making sure his scrambled eggs don't get cold.

"Ready for the Reapings, I see," his mother laughs, a broad smile on her face as she points at her son's Finnick Odair t-shirt. He is a long-term favorite of his, and he stills screams the man's name in excitement whenever he spots him among the District mentors. "Well, eat your breakfast first, baby. I think District 6 goes first this year, right Wilma?" The avox nods quietly while brushing dry crusts of food off the plates that were left in the sink the previous evening, and Atticus's mother smiles with contempt. "Come on, baby, your food's going to get all cold."

"Yes, mommy," Atticus grins and takes a seat next to his mother, his feet dangling from the chair as he nervously swings his legs up and down. "I can't believe there aren't gonna be any volunteers this year! That's gonna make the District 1 and 2 Reapings much duller, isn't it?"

"I'm sure they'll still be exciting enough, my love," his mother assures him, tousling his wavy brown hair. The woman glances towards the little television that they installed in the kitchen when Atticus's die-hard enthusiasm for the Games first began — he had only been three or four, but he had already screamed in delight when his favorite tribute, a scrawny fifteen-year-old from District 3, had slit the District 1 girl's throat and crowned himself as Victor. She knows her husband has always felt a little ambivalent about the Games, and that he doesn't really approve of their only son being so enthusiastic about them, but he has learned not to complain about it.

"Do you want me to turn the TV on, darling?" Atticus is practically shoving his scrambled eggs and bacon down his throat, and some of it even drips out of his mouth when he looks up to his mother and nods enthusiastically. The boy has never learned to appreciate what he has — their kitchen cupboards are always more than replenished with food anyway, and Wilma has always been told to fix him a snack whenever he asks for one. Atticus has known nothing but comfort and luxury, like his mother and father did while growing up.

She smiles and reaches for the TV remote. The Capitol has over two hundred channels that are carefully supervised every day, ensuring its citizens' amusement but also the enhancement of their undying love for the President and the government of Panem. But today every single channel will be showing the exact same recording — that of District 6's Reaping, closely followed by that of District 4's and District 8's, as the TV presenter announces gleefully. The cameramen and the Capitol journalists are already lined up at the District 6 town square, interviewing random people about the Games and whether they'd like to see their children, siblings, friends, or significant others get reaped. Most of these questions are met with frowns and uncomfortable shrugs, which always confuses little Atticus.

"Why wouldn't they want their relatives to get reaped, though?" He questions as he digs his spoon into his cereal bowl. "It's such an honor to represent their District. And they'd get free food and lodging for the rest of their lives if they win!"

"I know, baby," his mother replies, shrugging. "I do understand that some parents may feel concerned about losing their children, but it's all for the glory of our country."

"Nonsense," Atticus replies categorically, swinging his spoon up in a dramatic gesture. "I sometimes wish I were a District boy so that I could volunteer. But I can't because we're stuck here in the stupid _Capitol_ where people can't get reaped and sent to the Games."

His mother's encouraging smile turns into a light grimace.

"Come on, baby, don't say that," she says, patting his back. "District kids would _kill_ to live here. And they do, in a way — the Games are the only way they can get a semblance of a Capitolite life afterwards, and you shouldn't say such ungrateful things about it. You were rightfully born to cherish the Capitol's luxury and wealth — you are one of the chosen ones, after all. A first-class citizen that those scrawny little kids will never feel up to par with."

She eyes her son with a hint of sternness that she hardly ever uses with him, and Atticus nods quietly in agreement.

"What does 'semblance' mean?" The boy asks finally, making his mother dissolve into a quiet laugh. The woman simply presses a kiss to his son's head and looks back at the TV, where the District 6 escort has already walked onstage and is currently delivering his yearly speech about the Games.

The District kids generally look uninterested or downright annoyed by the Reaping, which never fails to appall Atticus, but he quietly observes them as he shoves spoonfuls of sugary cereal down his throat. He doesn't like poor people, he decided long ago. They're squeamish and annoying and are always complaining about how other people live in better conditions than them — it's not like it's Atticus's fault that they weren't smart enough to fight their way up to the top of the social pyramid, or that they hadn't been lucky enough to live in the Capitol like him. His mother is absolutely right — he is a first-class citizen through and through, and those kids from the poor Districts don't deserve his compassion — much less his _envy_ because of the possibility of being sent to the Games, because at the end of the day the thick of the Districts' population never gets to feel the glory of being reaped and end up leading otherwise unremarkable lives, with misery surrounding them to a varying degree and never achieving the comfort and wealth of a life in the Capitol, not even in the better-off Districts like One and Two.

Atticus isn't capable of breaking his thoughts down and rationalizing them like that just yet, though, so for the time being he simply grins at the camera when the two bowls are brought onstage by two of the District mayor's apprentices and the District escort beams at the camera before taking a first slip of paper out of the one containing the names of all the girls of the District in Reaping age who have never taken tesserae. The bowl is considerably smaller than the previous years, Atticus notes, perhaps because District 6 isn't exactly wealthy and some of its children must have taken tesserae several times so as to help their parents out. If he were a District kid, Atticus thinks to himself, he _would_ take extra tesserae. Not because his family needed it — it was physically impossible for him to imagine a life of poverty for himself, after all — but rather because it would increase the possibilities of him getting reaped.

The escort announces the name of the female tribute, and the town square goes silent. There are no volunteers allowed this year, so the girl who has just been randomly picked by the Capitolite standing onstage in front of them is definitely going to be the one representing her District in the Fourth Quarter Quell — Atticus tries to convey the feeling of excitement that would run through his veins if he were to be the Capitol's representative in a hypothetical edition of the Hunger Games that included two Capitol children, and he almost grins to himself at the idea of going onstage and telling everyone in his city how thrilled he felt about representing them all. His chest would swell with pride, his arms would go up as the crowd cheered his name, and his parents would have pride written all over their faces . . .

He is so caught up in his own thoughts that he misses the male tribute's reaping. He frowns, annoyed at his own aloofness, and snaps his fingers to catch Wilma's attention. When the avox is standing next to him, he motions for her to refill his cereal bowl, and the girl obliges quietly.

Oh, to be a District kid during Reaping day, he thinks to himself with an excited smile on his face.

* * *

**Heyo! I thought I might as well write write an interlude of sorts until I get the remaining tributes — there are still a few spots left, so please make sure to check them out! It'd also be lovely if the reserved slots were submitted asap. ****Also — feel free to submit a second tribute if you've already submitted one! These are the remaining spots:**

**• District 4 Female**

**• District 7 Female**

**• District 12 Male + Female**

**District 1 Reapings should be up as soon as I have the full ensemble. In the meantime, I might write other Reapings first or something, but it'd be lovely if I could post them in order. Have a nice time until then, and I hope you enjoyed this mini-chapter!**

**-s.**


	4. District 1 - The Morning Of

**District One**

**Morning prior to the Reaping**

* * *

**Evander Luxx — 8:00 AM**

"Whoa! How did you even _do _that, Ander?"

Evander smiles as he picks up his knives and smiles at Luster. The boy, aged twelve, has been his next door neighbor his entire life, and it's not uncommon for him to sneak around Evander's house until the older boy comes out and shows him whichever trick he learned in the Academy the previous day. He isn't exactly fond of demonstrating his talents at wielding weapons, though — he would very much rather focus on boxing, but his teachers at the Academy insisted that he should learn how to fight in case he ever wanted to volunteer for the Games. Luster has always admired every single one of his demonstrations, sighing about how he wishes he were old enough to train with him and Maximillion, Evander's best friend.

"So what do you think is gonna happen today?" Luster questions, trotting behind him. "You don't think someone like me could get reaped, right? Like, I wouldn't mind getting reaped if it meant some Career was gonna volunteer for me right afterwards, but since there are no volunteers allowed this year — what would I do if I ever got reaped?"

Evander smiles at his friend sympathetically. "Don't worry, Luster. Your name is only in there once, and there's plenty of boys in our District. I'm sure you won't get reaped."

He thinks about the poorer Districts for a second. It must be tough, living in a place where no one would volunteer if you got reaped — the children of District 1 never lost a wink of sleep worrying about being sent to the Games, whereas most twelve-year-olds in the more peripheral Districts must have felt downright terrified about the idea of hearing their name come out of their escort's lips. He sighs, and quietly wishes he wouldn't worry about the other Districts and the inherent inequality that surrounds them like he usually does — his father often mocks the way his face contorts in distress whenever he watches the news, and he even blames the boy's mother for their child's softness.

"I should go get changed," Evander mumbles finally, and ruffles Luster's hair distractedly before offering him one last smile. "See you later, all right?"

Luster nods and trots back to his house, holding one of Evander's knives close to his chest. Evander loves the kid like a little brother, because he feels as though he is one of the freshest minds in District 1 — most of his classmates are bigoted rich kids who can't see past their own privilege, but there's something about Luster that sparks hope inside Evander's naturally empathic heart, and he can't help but smile at the sight of the boy sloppily kissing his mother's cheek in the middle of the street before entering his house.

Evander quietly slips inside his house too, hoping his family isn't awake yet. His father would typically be away at work by now, but Reaping day is practically like a bank holiday and they're all allowed to sleep in. Evander pictures his father lying in bed like a corpse, with his mother quietly curling around him like she always does — he has never quite understood how such a soft, caring woman could fall for someone as rough as his father, but he gathers that Apollo Luxx must have been an entirely different person when they first met. It's not like he _hates_ his father, though — they have a rough time getting along because Apollo thinks his son is too weak to become a decent Career, especially ever since the Quarter Quell was announced and they all realized that Evander's older sister, Emma, wouldn't be able to volunteer in her last year being eligible for Reaping, which heavily annoyed her and her father. Evander had always hoped his father would cut him some slack if his sister volunteered and came back as a Victor, but he now gathers that he has become his family's only hope.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Evander half-smiles at the sight of his sister Emma, still in her pajamas and rubbing hey eyes quietly. They're both very much alike, but Emma has got more of their father in her — she's determined and demanding of the people she loves, but also inherited from their mother a semi-pathological need of protecting her little brother from their father's complaints. She has always been fiercely supportive of his choices, and Evander has always approved of hers in return, even if he has never believed in the Games like his father and Emma do.

"Hey." He kisses her cheek and hugs her for a second, identifying his sister's characteristic smell of fresh soap and little remnants of sweat from all her karate practicing. Her arms drape around him, and Evander smiles quietly. "You're not upset about today anymore, right?"

"Nah." Emma shrugs, ruffling her brother's hair like she used to when he was shorter than her. She isn't exactly small, but he still hovers over her like their father does because of the height difference. "I'm all right, I guess. I'll just find a job, get married, have a couple little kids for you to spoil. You know, the usual District 1 lifestyle."

"I know it's not fair for me to say this, but… I'm glad you're staying, Em. I was worried sick about you going to the Games and — well, not making it back."

Emma does a sad smile as she opens the fridge and examines its contents. "Yeah, I guess. I just really wanted to do it, you know — I'd never planned anything for myself after volunteering because the chances of coming home were quite slim, and now I don't know what I'm going to do with my life. I don't know who I want to _be_, because all I've ever been is a Career trainee."

Evander grimaces, but nods. He understands what his sister is saying — most kids at the Academy deem the possibility of volunteering for the Games as a lifetime achievement, and they don't usually plan ahead of that because, as confident as they may be, most of them know that there are other twenty-three tributes being thrown into the Arena and who will want to get home just as fiercely as they will. They simply want to die young, to die heroes like their parents and grandparents did before them — young death is a shipwreck, and old death is but an arrival to a safe seaport, Evander gathers as he distractedly picks at the breadcrumbs that were left there last night by their absentminded mother.

"You want some?" Emma motions at the yoghurt she's currently eating, and smiles when her brother nods. "You're worried about the Reaping, eh? Well, don't be. I heard some bitch in my class was going to hijack the Reaping so that she'll get reaped anyway — there's probably some other dude who's done the same thing with the male bowl, so I promise you're gonna be fine."

Evander's eyebrows rise in surprise. "What? How did they even do that?"

Emma shrugs as she takes a seat on the countertop, eating spoonfuls of her yoghurt as she speaks. "I dunno. I'm not friends with her or anything, but we've trained together a couple of times — Celeste Duval, she's Jasper Duval's only kid. You know, the guy who owns that immense jewellery in President Snow Street?" Evander nods quickly, and Emma laughs quietly. "Well, my friend Harper told me she like, bribed some Peacekeepers that she had sex with a while ago or something like that for them to switch the female bowl to one that solely contained her name. That's why I know I'm _never_ getting reaped. But like I said, I've done my share of thinking and I feel like I'm okay with it now. Sure, it pissed me off back in the day — but at least I'm not playing dirty, right?"

Evander nods quietly, astonished by his sister's explanation. He has always known that certain families hold an immense power in their District — the Luxx family is in no way poor, but they've always been strictly middle-class, and that's precisely the reason why his father feels as though a Victor child would validate their name among their neighbors. It appalls him to think that the bureaucratic network that he has always firmly believed in is nothing but a web of lies and bribery, and that some people are so easily manipulated and corrupted by money or other hedonistic pleasures. He shakes his head quietly, and then sighs before opening his yoghurt.

"So you think we're safe, then?" He asks finally.

Emma smiles. "I'm _sure_ of it, Ander. Just relax, all right? We'll go for a walk and buy some ice cream or iced tea afterwards."

"I don't think Father would approve of that," Evander does a sad smile and glances down at his yoghurt. His father takes Reaping Day very seriously, being the fiercely Capitol-aligned man that he is, and he would never let his children out of his sight even after the Reaping was over.

His sister just snorts and shrugs her shoulders. "We're well past the caring-about-what-Father-thinks stage, right? I was supposed to make this family great and now I can't, so I guess we're both failures to him."

"I don't think he feels that way, though," Evander argues. In spite of his father's general harshness towards him, his loyalty to every single one of his family members outweighs everything else in the end. "He loves us, Em. He's just… well, not great at showing it."

Emma shrugs and tosses her empty yoghurt can into the trash. "Well, I don't care. You know I've always thought he really should cut you some slack — and he's been acting horridly passive-aggressive towards me ever since the Quell was announced. So yeah, who cares?"

Evander nods quietly, agreeing to his sister's words. Who _does _care, after all? They will probably just hang out with their friends for a bit before the Reaping and then go home with their parents like every other year, and he knows it's ridiculous for him to feel worried about getting reaped. And yet there's a nasty little thought nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that he might somehow wind up in an Arena with other twenty-three teenagers who will most likely want to murder him. He tries to push the thought away as he finishes his yoghurt, but the mere possibility of it makes him shiver.

Evander will soon learn to follow his instincts, but for now he simply offers his big sister a bright smile and silently tells himself that everything is going to be all right.

* * *

**Celeste Duval — 9:30 AM**

Celeste knows that she shouldn't be grinning as hard as she is right now, but her reflection in the mirror screams 'Victor of the 100th Hunger Games' and she's loving everything about it.

She even twirls around and laughs at the way her blue skirt sways around her, revealing her toned thighs and her impeccably shaved legs. Their maid has helped her curl her hair and it now falls in long blond bangs around her face, making her look both seductive and confident, and her bright red lipstick and mascara give the final touches to a perfect Career look. She wanted to tone it down so as not to make it look too obvious, but she still needs to looks smart for the occasion — the entire country will be watching her, after all, and she has always been known for her good looks and impeccable fashion style. Her mother has treated her like a doll all her life, growing up a round-faced and undeniably cute child, but Celeste truly began to shine once she hit puberty — losing all her baby fat and training at the Academy made her one of the most beautiful girls in her District, and at age eighteen she is one of the most popular students at the Academy, and had even gotten picked to become this year's volunteer for her District. She grimaces at the memory of the way the Capitol had revealed that the Fourth Quarter Quell wouldn't be allowing any volunteers, and she remembers the snicker that some of the less popular girls had aimed towards her when they all found out during one of their training sessions. But of course, Celeste quickly had it all under control. She is acquainted with most of the younger Peacekeepers of her District, and she even fooled around with one of them a while ago — she doesn't do dating, but she sure does enjoy a decent sexual encounter, especially if she can benefit from it afterwards. It didn't take too much convincing to make the young man help her switch the Reaping bowls so as to ensure she would become their District's tribute, and she even enjoyed the small thrill that formed at the bottom of her stomach when the Peacekeeper had told her everything had been taken care of.

Easy cake, Celeste tells herself as she grins at her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, baby, you look _amazing_."

She twirls around with an innocent smile when she hears her mother's voice and runs up to her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Minerva Duval still looks almost as beautiful as her daughter does in spite of her age — Celeste has always thought she must have been an absolute beauty when she was younger, and she even stares at her pictures in the living room with an expression of awe that hardly ever crosses her face. She doesn't admire many people, but she definitely does admire her mother — she takes care of the family business's finances, but she also spends most of her days as a socialite amongst the finest people of their District, and she was even invited to the Capitol once for a cocktail party hosted by the President. Her mother has taught her that she is unstoppable, and that she is ought to make her family proud, and she tells herself that is exactly what she is doing by tricking her way into this year's Hunger Games. She wouldn't have resorted to it if it hadn't been her last eligible year, but she reckons her mother won't mind as long as she comes back to her. And she _will_, because Celeste is more than ready to win, and those half-starved kids from the poorer Districts won't stand a chance when it comes to fighting their way out of the Arena.

"Why aren't you wearing the dress that we bought for you when we found out you'd been selected to volunteer this year, though?" Her mother questions as her fingers run down the straps of her only daughter's dress. Her eyebrows have moved into a light frown, and Celeste _knows_ that she must be feeling suspicious about her suddenly careless attitude. It isn't like Celeste to just forget about something and move on — much less if it's something that she has been training for all her life. Minerva knows that, and she is perhaps the smartest woman Celeste has ever met, so she must also know that she's up to something. But thankfully, her mother chooses to remain silent on the matter and simply pamper her like she usually would, and like she always has ever since she was a little girl.

Celeste just shrugs and offers her mother a bright smile. "Oh, I don't know. I really didn't see the point in it, you know? I don't want to steal any attention from the reaped girl — that wouldn't be fair, would it?"

One of Minerva's eyebrows rises quietly. "You know _you're _still eligible for reaping, right? It might still be you, doll."

"Oh, I know," Celeste laughs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to her mother's cheek. "I just don't want to get my hopes up, because our District kids aren't precisely known for taking tesserae. The odds aren't exactly in my favor, are they?"

"There's still a chance, baby. Don't give up just yet."

Oh, but there is, Celeste thinks to herself as her mother kisses her forehead, careful not to ruin her perfectly applied concealer. There _is _a huge chance that she will get reaped, and she knows her mother will feel proud when that happens, in spite of their constant bantering and arguing over Celeste's rather hedonistic lifestyle and how her mother fiercely disapproves of it in spite of having followed a similar path during her teenage years.

The space between them suddenly feels tense and charged, and Minerva coughs a little before stepping away from her. She has betrayed her perfectly stoic nature in favor of her only daughter, but they both know that the truce is over now — Minerva will go back to being the strict mother that she always is, and Celeste will go on ignoring her reproaches and living the life she deems appropriate for herself. She _is_ an adult now, after all — and there's nothing her mother can do to stop her, even if she sometimes attempts to redirect a lifetime of pampering and overprotection towards a more austere lifestyle.

"Thank you, mother," she finally says, a sober smile on her lips. "All we can do is hope."

"Indeed," her mother nods, the look of suspicion in her eyes never quite fading away. She simply coughs again and looks up at the ceiling before adding, "I'd better go fetch your father. We should be leaving soon if we want to make it there with extra time to meet the Walcotts and catch up with them — I heard the Capitol's lovely around this time of the year, they must have had the best of times there."

"Sure, mother," Celeste nods. "I'll go get my purse."

Her mother looks at her for a moment, her expression almost sad, and then exits her daughter's room quietly. Celeste sighs and rubs her temples with her index fingers when she's gone, glancing at her reflection in the mirror from afar — she shouldn't have any doubts, but her mother always manages to make her question every choice she has made ever since she was thirteen or fourteen. Still, she tells herself there is no way she is not doing this and that she was born to honor her District in the Hunger Games, and quietly smooths her dress skirt before reaching for her purse. She does one of the breathing exercises that her training tutor taught her the previous year — two times in, one out, and she suddenly feels as though that last conversation with her mother hasn't even taken place. She places her purse underneath her arm and opens the door, realizing that she won't come back until she wins the Games. Because she _will_ win, after all.

"Fuck you, mother," she mumbles to herself before closing the door behind her.

* * *

**Soooo. Idk how to feel about this first chapter, but there it is — I hope you guys enjoyed it! I thought I'd do a chapter per District, making each of them around 3-4k words long and depicting the different stages of the pre-Games process. Meaning that the following chapter should depict the District 2 Reapings, since this one dealt with the morning prior to it. I might also write little interludes from the Capitol, since you lot seemed to enjoy that little chapter I wrote last week, but idk how that's gonna go just yet. Anyway! I'm really excited about this story, and I really can't wait for you guys to see what's in store.**

**-s.**


	5. District 2 - Reapings

**District Two**

**Reapings**

* * *

TW: This chapter contains a couple homophobic slurs. I tried to keep them to a minimum, but I thought it was important to convey the District's general homophobia and how its citizens may feel towards an openly gay tribute. I'm terribly sorry if it troubles any of you — please let me know if it does, and I'll try and suppress them altogether in future chapters.

* * *

**Marius Harlowe — 11:00 AM**

Marius has always been a lonely boy, but the idea of being on his own has never really bothered him. He has grown accustomed to his peers' daunting glances and the way they would just laugh whenever he shuffled into class, his thick black curls bouncing on top of his eyes and dangling wildly whenever he lowered his gaze. He doesn't mind being called names when he bumps into them, although he wishes they would simply leave him alone because he hates being in the spotlight. He vividly remembers being insulted by one of his fellow Academy trainees when his ballet shoes fell out of his backpack — he doesn't remember the particular slur he used, but he sure remembers the way his face had heated up and how he bit back at the boy by calling him a mongrel. He is well past the feeling judged for his sexuality stage, but it still bothers him to realize that people might think less of him because of his passion for dancing and art, like they are intrinsically feminine things instead of culturally fascinating subjects that should be of everyone's interest instead of a peripheral practice destined for those girls who don't feel like the Career life is for them. Marius is a highly sensitive young man, and he loathes the way most of his peers refuse to acknowledge the fact that there is more to life than the bloody Hunger Games that they have been training for ever since they were little boys and girls.

That is precisely why he just sighs when one of his former classmates snickers at him when he walks past him on his way to the Reaping.

"Where's your tutu, _fag_?"

"Go fuck yourself, Trevor." Helena snarks. Marius's best friend places a hand on his shoulder and urges him to move forward. "Come on, let's go."

"It's all right, Helena," he mumbles quietly. "You know I don't really care for all their homophobic crap anyway."

"I know," Helena shrugs. "But _I_ care, and it pisses me off to see that they can act like bullies around you and get a free pass because everyone in this goddamn District thinks being homophobic is all right."

"Perhaps we're just the odd ones out," Marius muses, not unkindly. He knows Helena is only trying to help, and that she can hardly hold back the spiteful reproaches that come out of her mouth whenever he is insulted by one of their peers — but he sometimes wishes she would just calm down and stop protecting him, because it almost makes him feel as though she thinks he would never be able to stand up for himself.

He glances back at the Peacekeeper tribune. His father is standing among his colleagues, an observant expression on his face. They have never been exactly close — Marius respects him like a soldier would respect his captain, but he has never been a loving father, at least not since Marius's mother died and the boy came out as gay shortly afterwards. His father has never laid a hand on him, but Marius knows that there are many non-physical ways to damage a child — his father's derisive laugh whenever he finds his only son with a book in his hands or wearing his ballet outfit is enough to put him down like none of his peers can, and the way he outright ignores him most of the time feels both hurtful and discouraging to Marius. His father is the only reason why he hasn't quit the Academy yet, even with Helena urging him to do so because she knows how much he hates it there — the toxic masculinity that most of his classmates irradiate and boastfully encourage in each other is eating him alive, and he can barely stand the idea of hurting other people, but he keeps trying to prove a point to his father by not giving up on his long-gone dream of becoming a Career and winning the Hunger Games.

Helena tugs at his hand when they reach the seventeen-year-old group, and offers him an encouraging smile as their escort walks onstage. Marius nervously scratches his neck underneath the black turtleneck jumper that he has decided to wear for the Reaping, and obediently sings the national anthem of Panem with the rest of his District. Once it is over, the town square erupts into claps and cheers until their escort motions for them to stop, smiling brightly at the cameras and the crowd in front of her. Marius knows that it's any Hunger Games escort's dream to be in charge of District Two — most of their escorts don't let go of the privilege until they retire, and he knows they tend to be exceptionally nice to their tributes who, in return, tend to be _exceptionally_ rude to everyone surrounding them.

"Look who just came back from vacationing in District Four," Helena snickers next to him, and Marius has to stifle a laugh. He envies her tranquility to a certain degree — her family has always struggled at making ends meet, and so Helena and her siblings have been taking plenty of tesserae over the previous years because they knew there was always going to be someone to volunteer in case they got reaped. And now they aren't even eligible for reaping because of the Quarter Quell's theme — he feels thankful that she should want to join him in the crowd anyway, but it also saddens him to think that he is completely alone in his current anguish.

Once their escort's yearly rant on the Capitol and the statistically proven benefits of the Hunger Games is over, the woman motions for two of the junior Peacekeepers to push the carts containing the two crystal bowls onstage. She announces that she will be drawing the male tribute's name first, and Helena gives Marius's hand a quiet squeeze as she leans closer to him. If people hadn't known any better, they might have even thought that she was Marius's girlfriend — the two of them had always been physically close that way, but Helena had quickly understood that her friend was just about as interested in girls as he was in karate. Which might have even been an understatement, because there is something rhythmic and undeniably beautiful about martial arts, Marius reflects in an attempt not to think about the way their escort's hand is sinking into the pile of papers and drawing one, a satisfied smile etching its way onto her face as she reads the chosen boy's name.

"Marius Harlowe!"

Marius blinks once, then twice. Helena's hand has let go of his, and his friend is covering her mouth with both of her hands now, but Marius can't quite focus his vision on anything in particular — most of the seventeen-year-olds have turned around to look at him, most of them knowing him from elementary school or the Academy, and some of them even snicker at him in disdain. His legs are trembling, and his hands are a bit shaky too, he notices — he clenches them into a fist and gulps quietly. He turns around, presses a kiss to Helena's temple, and begins to make his way towards the stage, where a visibly thrilled escort is already waiting for him. His throat is itchy, and he can barely hold himself together, but he doesn't want to give his District the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

"Pleasure to meet you, Marius!" The escort shakes his hand with a bright smile on her face, ignoring Marius's glassy eyes and the pain written all over his face. "Is there anything you want to say to your District before you leave?"

Marius coughs, realizing that his voice must sound raspy, but nods before approaching the microphone. The entire town square has gone silent, and all of his District's eyes are on him as he taps on the microphone quietly. He is holding his head high, but he can feel his heart beating wildly against his ribcage, and he has to practice one of his breathing exercises before addressing the crowd in front of him.

"I'm going to survive," he says. It almost comes off as a warning, he realizes, and he licks his lips before adding, "I'm going to make my District proud."

Marius doesn't care for his District at all, because he has known nothing but ostracism and disdain from those who call themselves his neighbors. But he is a good player, and knows that his performance must begin right now.

* * *

**Dorcas Findlay — 11:20 AM**

She doesn't really know the boy who has just walked onstage, and Dorcas has to squint to realize that she has seen him once or twice before — probably at elementary school, since the boy has the looks of an undertrained Career and Dorcas has never attended the Academy to begin with. She tilts her head in a curious gesture, examining the boy's thick black curls and his long eyelashes; there is something undeniably feminine about him, perhaps even a little androgynous. She smiles, deciding that she likes him, only to feel her brother's hand swatting against her elbow.

"Doe, don't look at him like that." He reproaches quietly. "He's a fag, Connor told me."

Dorcas rolls her eyes and shrugs. Lorcan can be like that most of the times — a repressed young boy whose only scapegoat is bullying freethinkers into submission. It isn't like most teenagers in District Two aren't more or less like him, though, and he is usually nice and quite loving around her, but she hates the way he is just about as conservative as their father is. Fourteen-year-olds are supposed to be rebellious and careless, not carbon copies of their parents, Dorcas thinks to herself as she rubs her elbow quietly.

"It's not like I wanna date him or anything," she protests, shrugging. "I was just curious."

"Well, don't be," Lorcan retorts. "People like him don't deserve your curiosity." His expression softens, probably because Lorcan knows there's nothing he can do about his twin sister's free spirit, and gently rubs her shoulder before adding, "Let's just focus on the Reaping, shall we?"

"All right." Dorcas crosses her arms and, in spite of knowing that her brother means well deep (really deep) down, she just shrugs his hand off when he attempts to place it on her shoulder. She can sense the crease forming on Lorcan's forehead, but she just quietly observes the stage with an uninterested expression on her face, silently punishing her twin brother for the way he keeps trying to patronize her.

"Let's move on to our female tribute!" Their escort chirps. Marius is now standing next to the mentors, his hands behind his back and blankly staring at the town square in front of him. Dorcas pities him, but also envies him in a way — she knows it's probably a little wrong to think so, but the Games offer the tributes the possibility of leaving their Districts, largely for the first time in their young lives. All Dorcas has wanted for as long as she can tell is to run away, to break free from her family's conventionalism and find out what hides behind the borders of their country. Her mother often reprimands her for being so dreamy and child-like, but Dorcas sees District Two as a horrid cage that she has been stuck in ever since she was born, and being sent to the Games would _at least_ offer the possibility of seeing a bit more of the world — even if it means never making it back home.

She is so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't hear Lorcan's gasp next to her when the female tribute's name is announced. A few sets of eyes dart towards her — children who used to know her from school or her painting lessons. Dorcas shakes her head a little and stares back at them, not quite understanding why everyone is suddenly looking at her while her brother closes his eyes in sheer dismay.

"Dorcas Findlay, please."

The Peacekeepers are now making their way towards her, and she even yelps in surprise when they grab her by both arms and try to drag her onstage. She wriggles out of their menacingly tight grip and mumbles something about being able to get there herself, which makes Lorcan burst into tears. Dorcas looks back at her twin brother with a surprised expression — she doesn't think she has seen Lorcan cry in public, not ever. He usually kept his tears to himself until he was alone, because their father always told him real men don't cry, and it saddens her to think that, on top of everything else, he will most likely get reprimanded by Gaius Findlay as soon as they get home, going on about how embarrassing it will be for them to have their fourteen-year-old son crying in front of the entire country.

"_Move_." The Peacekeeper grabs her by the arm again. When Dorcas nods and tries to wriggle him off again, however, he just drags her along and doesn't let go of her until they have reached the stage. Dorcas looks back at Lorcan, who is now furiously rubbing his eyes and avoiding the camera that has zoomed in to record his reaction to his twin sister's reaping, and all of a sudden she _hates_ the Capitol and President Heydrich and Agrippa Colman and everyone standing in the District Two town square snickering quietly at the two kids who are being sent to their nearly certain deaths because there weren't any volunteers to save them.

But, above anything else, she hates the way their escort simply offers her a grin when she stretches her hand and tells Dorcas she's delighted to meet her. Like she's worthless, and like Marius is worthless too. Like she doesn't care whether they live or die — because, in all honestly, she really mustn't care all that much. The Games are a vicious circle that nobody ever really gets rid of, she thinks, because even though her parents made it through Reaping age and got to start a family they are now forced to watch their only daughter go. And it hurts so much to see the pain etched onto her brother's face that she has forgotten about her own pain, and she only regains some sense of self-grief when Marius squeezes her shoulder and offers her a sympathetic smile.

"I guess we're the lucky ones, right?"

* * *

**Atticus Waterhouse — The Capitol, 11:45 AM**

Atticus squints at the television and then looks at his mother, confusion written all over his face.

"Why do they look so upset, mommy?" He questions. "District Two kids usually make it really far into the Games. It's not that fun if they're crying and complaining all the time!"

His mother shrugs and takes a sip from her third mimosa of the day, carefully prepared by Wilma earlier that morning. She generally enjoys watching the Reapings with her son, but for some reason she keeps craving alcohol ever since the Quarter Quell was announced.

"District Two usually sends their best tributes to the Games," she explains calmly. "Careers usually train all their lives until they're seventeen or eighteen and then get picked by their Academy teachers for volunteering. Just look at the pair of them — the boy looks like a Russian ballerina, for God's sake."

Atticus's brow furrows as he fiddles with his Finnick Odair t-shirt. "What's a Russian ballerina?"

"Oh, nothing," she smiles quietly and runs a hand through her son's wavy caramel-colored hair. "I just mean that neither of them looks fit for battle like the tributes from Two usually do."

"Yeah, I know," Atticus says, focusing on the television again. "The ones from One did seem cool, though. I liked the boy."

"Did you?" Her expression has become an amused one, and she takes a seat next to him on the couch while observing the television in front of them. "Why don't we play board games or something for a bit, though? Let's just forget about the Games, there's still a bit till the District Three Reapings anyway."

"But they're profiling the new tributes right now!" Atticus protests. "I really wanna know what's Evander's favorite ice cream flavor."

She sighs, but shrugs in defeat before downing her mimosa. It's not that she doesn't like the Games — she enjoys them just like pretty much everyone in the Capitol does, and even takes her son to see the chariot rides and interviews live whenever she can — but there's something a little daunting about this year's Quarter Quell. She has lived in the Capitol all her life, and she has witnessed hoards of tributes being sent to their deaths after a couple of weeks in the Capitol — and she knows that the killing becomes particularly brutal when it comes to Quarter Quells, and she isn't sure if she wants her son to get attached to any of those children who are getting sent to the most abhorrent of deaths. She knows that Agrippa Colman and President Heydrich must be hiding something, and that they will drop the final bomb when everyone least expects it. She mulls it all over quietly, and only lets the thought go when her son's index finger pokes her cheek lightly.

"You all right, mommy?" He asks, a concerned expression visible on his young face. Ten-year-olds shouldn't be worrying about anything other than the presents that they were going to get for Christmas, she reasons, and offers him a gentle smile before shaking her head.

"I feel great, baby," she replies, and presses a kiss to his head before adding, "So tell me about this Evander boy. Why do you like him so much?"

And so Atticus goes on listing the number of reasons why he has already decided that Evander is going to be one of his favorite tributes, with his mother listening attentively and even pointing a few things out every now and then. They have both bonded through the Games, she realizes, and it's probably too late to try and change that — so she might as well enjoy them with him while his interest lasts.

They are, after all, following the Games from the luxury of their sofa, knowing that no one is ever going to hurt them.

* * *

**So that's that. Any thoughts? Should I keep writing the little Capitol POV every now and then or should I just focus on the tributes instead? As I mentioned earlier, my idea is to give each character a 1.5k-2k-ish POV before the Games begin, then alternate POVs between the different remaining tributes/alliances as the Games take place. I thought that writing all twenty-four reapings would become too tedious, and I really don't want to 'waste' too much time on the pre-Games because I feel like most people lose interest in their own SYOTs before the tributes even get to the Arena? Anyway. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The following one should be up sometime next week. Please let me know how you feel about the story so far via review! Your beautiful comments never fail to bring big dumb smiles to my face. :)**

**-s.**


	6. District 3 - Justice Building

**District Three**

**Justice Building**

* * *

**Milo Tesla — 12:30 PM**

The door closes behind him, and Milo can almost feel how his heart breaks into a million pieces when he hears her sister's Margot sobs. His father is holding her tightly against his chest, a solemn but nevertheless sad expression on his face, and it is only then when Milo realizes that he has never seen such an upset expression on Gregor Tesla's face — at least not since his wife passed away.

Hannah, however, is the first one to leap up from her seat and envelop Milo in a tight hug. Her cheeks are a blotchy red and she definitely looks as though she has been crying while Milo was being interviewed by some Capitol journalists on his way to the Justice Building, but he knows she excels at hiding her feelings when she feels like they aren't appropriate — his girlfriend is much stronger than him, he realizes as he hugs her tight, and it saddens him to think that she would probably have a better chance at winning the Games than he does right now.

"I loved how you just went off and bitched about everyone right there onstage," is the first thing she tells him, a sad smile on her face as she cups his face in her hands. They are never this intimate around Milo's family, mostly keeping their hands to themselves and occasionally sharing a chaste kiss on the cheek if the situation requires it, but he gathers that she doesn't really care about mannerisms anymore. "You're going to make us all _so _proud, Mi."

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and for a second he just tries to breathe Hannah's scent in before shaking his head.

"I'll try," he whispers, his voice raspy. He is trying really hard not to cry in front of his family, and the feeling of Hannah's hands against his cheeks is pretty much what keeps him from doing so. "I promise I'll try and come home to you all."

"I know you will," Hannah nods, and presses a kiss to his cheek before stepping back. He knows he will get back to her later, but for the moment he allows himself to look up at his father and sister, his upper lip trembling ever so lightly.

"_Milo_," Margot moans, running up to him. The girl wraps her arms around her brother's waist, and soon Milo feels how his shirt becomes wet from his own sister's tears — she is over a foot shorter than him, being only nine years old, and it breaks his heart to think that he might never get to see her become the bold young woman that she is shaping up to be. He hugs her close, looking at Hannah again. He doesn't need to ask her to take care of Margot while he is away — the girl nods and offers him yet another sad smile.

Milo then crouches down to meet his nine-year-old sister's gaze.

"Hey, Margie," he whispers, touching his hand to his sister's crispy blonde hair. It reminds him of his mother, fiery and wild until her last dying breath. "I'm gonna be gone for a bit, all right? But you'll get to see me on TV and I really need you to cheer me on if you want me to come back from the Games." Margot's expression has turned into a sad pout, and the girl nods quietly at her brother's words. The boy has to rub the corners of his eyes yet again before hugging her. "I love you, Margot. Please remember that."

"I will." Margot whispers. She sounds older than nine, Milo realizes sadly, and finally lets go of her when he feels his father's hand on his shoulder.

He looks up, coughing quietly. His relationship with his father has been a rather strained one ever since Marianne Tesla died, and he isn't quite sure how to act around him right now. Hannah and Margot are looking at both of them expectantly, but Gregor Tesla simply places a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezes it ever so gently.

"Please take care, son," he says, his tone soft and comforting to Milo's numb ears. He then unclips his pocket watch and places it inside Milo's shirt pocket, touching his hand to his son's chest for the briefest of seconds. "You're smart. You're brave. I know you'll come back to us. Use your wits and what your mother and I taught you, will you?"

Milo gulps, closing his eyes. His father never talks about his late wife, and Milo still feels a prick of unease at the thought of his mother, wildly tenacious and curious, beaming down at him before she passed away.

"I — I'll come back, Dad. I promise." Milo offers his father a feeble smile, nodding his head as though trying to seal his promise.

He almost gasps when he feels how his father presses a kiss to his head like he used to do when he was a little boy — Milo might be over six feet tall, but his father is still slightly taller than him, and the gesture feels both endearing and heart-wrenching. The forty-nine-year-old pulls his son into a hug, and Milo closes his eyes when his father's smell of laboratory prophylactics and his mint-flavored tobacco floods his nostrils, realizing how much he has missed it over the past few years.

Gregor Tesla gives his son's cheek a gentle pat when he pulls away from the hug, and then turns around and offers Margot his hand.

"Let's give them some alone time before the Peacekeepers come," he suggests, and Milo almost smiles thankfully at his father's quiet understanding of his relationship with Hannah. He was once young and in love too, he gathers, even if his mother's sudden illness had taken that away from him. Margot nods and gives her brother one last feeble hug before whispering 'good luck' and leaving the room with their father, who appears to be wiping a single tear away from his own cheek.

Hannah's lips are on his as soon as Gregor Tesla closes the door behind him, and Milo melts into the most urgent kiss he has shared with her ever since they started dating at age sixteen.

"Please promise me you'll come back," she breathes against his lips, barely croaking the words out before placing her hands on his cheeks again. Tears are flowing down her face, and she has a runny nose from all the crying — Milo would have found the image terribly endearing if it hadn't been for the situation that they have wound up in.

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand and nods. "I will. I promise."

"I won't ever forgive you if you don't," she threatens, closing her eyes for a second. Her nose rubs against his, and Milo thinks of how Hannah has been pretty much his first everything — his first kiss, his first girlfriend, the first person that he has ever slept with. And it mortifies him to think that she may be the last, too — not because he worries about her moving on or forgetting about him, but because he is almost certain that he will never make it back.

"I'll try my best." There is a sad smile on his face, and he hugs her tightly one last time, breathing her in and trying to forget about what awaits him once he leaves the Justice Building and boards the one-way train to the Capitol. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to just relish on the softness of Hannah's skin and making her blush one last time by adding, in a very soft tone, "You're the best person I've ever known."

She smiles through the tears and swats his chest playfully. "_You're_ the best person I've ever known."

Someone knocks at the door, and Milo feels how his insides churn in dismay when he realizes that their time is up now. He glances down at Hannah, who is still hugging his chest tightly, and lifts her chin up tenderly.

"You need to be strong, all right?" Milo feels braver now, almost as though saying goodbye to his family and Hannah has given him enough strength to follow the Games's sadistic dynamics. He takes Hannah's hands in his and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "I'll think of you. Always. I love you."

Hannah smiles sadly, and kisses him one last time before letting go of him. "I love you too, Mi. Good luck."

The Peacekeepers storm into the room, ushering Hannah outside. The girl waves at him before disappearing through the door, and Milo is left there alone until one of the Peacekeepers comes back to fetch him.

He only realizes that his cheeks are wet once the spring breeze hits him outside the Justice Building, reminding him of the summers and falls and winters that he may never get to live anymore.

* * *

**Sansa Winter — 12:40 PM**

"Daddy, I'm _sure _there's a way you can get me out of here."

"There really isn't, love," her father says, his tone making him sound a little exasperated.

"Just tell them you're gonna, I don't know, cut their power off if they don't let me go!" Sansa pouts. She hadn't been able to stop crying when she was dragged onstage by the District Three Peacekeepers, but right now she simply looks horridly pissed off. She glares at her father when he shrugs again, and barks, "This is such _bullshit_!"

"I know, love," Robert Winter whispers, shaking his head. "I know, and it breaks my heart to see you go, but there really is nothing I can do to stop them. You know the Capitol — they want it, they've got it. It's just the way it works, baby."

Sansa's generally soft and beautiful features crease in dismay. "I can't believe this. You're supposed to _protect_ me, Daddy!"

"That's what I've done all my _fucking_ life!" Robert snaps back. He never speaks to his only daughter like this, but Sansa's brattish attitude about her Reaping is beginning to get on his nerves. "I'm trying my best here, Sansa. But I'm telling you — there's _nothing_ I can do about it. I've spoken to the mayor, to his assistants, to the Capitol escort — there's no bribing you out of this, love. I really am sorry."

Sansa's expression turns into a pout, then contorts into a more agonic expression when the idea of actually being sent to the Hunger Games dawns on her, because she hasn't quite wanted to believe it until now. She closes her eyes and presses the palms of her hands against her face — she's usually careful not to ruin the makeup routine that she has perfected over the course of the years, but she can't help but let the tears roll freely down her face when she thinks about how her days are probably numbered, and that she will never become the astonishing young woman that her father had always wanted her to be. She misses her mother all of a sudden, and tries to imagine what she would tell her if she were still alive — which only makes her sob harder against the palms of her hands. Her father wraps his arms around her and rests his chin atop of her head, but Sansa still feels like she is entirely on her own right now.

"What am I going to do?" She whispers against her father's chest. "I — I can't do it. I can't survive in the wild and kill people and hide and — "

"You'll have to try your best, baby," her father says, pressing a kiss to her auburn hair. "I'll be waiting for you here, all right? Just focus on learning as much as you can while you're in the Capitol and find yourself a suitable alliance. The Career pack may be more welcoming this year since there aren't any volunteers — you should definitely consider trying to stick with them for a bit, because they're the best allies that you could possibly have. And you may not be good at fighting, but you've got your mother's brains and beauty — and that's definitely a lot."

Sansa bites her lip, but ultimately nods. "So you think I should try and join the Career pack? Not Milo or some other kid?"

Her father shakes his head. "Definitely not that Milo boy. I don't think he'll make it very far, if you ask me."

Sansa knows that her father has never been the greatest strategist, but she lets it go momentarily and simply hugs him tight.

"I'm gonna miss you so much, Daddy," she whimpers, her eyes still closed and her nose buried in her father's chest. "I wish you could come up to the Capitol with me or something."

"I wish I could, too," Robert sighs. "But you have to do this on your own. You have to be the smartest kid out there and come back to me and your friends, all right? You need to live the life you had always planned for yourself, and the only way you're getting to do that is by outsmarting everyone else out there. Be selfish, be true to your instincts, and try to survive."

Sansa rubs her left eye, her mascara and eyeliner already ruined from all the crying. "I will try, Daddy. I promise."

Robert Winter nods, then lets go of his daughter before the Peacekeepers enter the room and tell them that it is time for him to go. Sansa chokes back another sob, and squeezes her father's hand one last time before he leaves, a broken-hearted expression on his face. She is left alone in the room for a few minutes, and she lets that last conversation with her father sink in as she observes the walls surrounding her — she knows she doesn't stand a chance, not really, but she promises herself that she will try her best. For her father, for her friends, for her future. And, above anything else, for herself — because she has always wanted to be great, and she definitely isn't going to let the Capitol belittle her or change her mind about that.

A Peacekeeper enters the room shortly after and tells her their escort is already waiting for them. Sansa nods curtly and smoothes her blue dress before following the Peacekeeper outside, where their escort, a dashing young man wearing a flamboyant electric blue suit, greets her with a warm smile before telling her they should be heading off to the train station soon. Milo is standing next to him, quiet and thoughtful, his checkered shirt crumpled from having held his little sister and that pretty girlfriend of his while he said goodbye. Sansa has only seen him once or twice at school before, but she reckons he must be one of those introverted nice kids that she used to mock when she was younger — and so she offers him a sympathetic smile, which is acknowledged by the older boy with a gentle but nevertheless sweet nod. Sansa immediately decides that she likes him, and that she feels as though she would rather join him in a hypothetical alliance instead of the Career pack like her father has suggested.

The Capitol journalists are waiting for them outside, but the Peacekeepers keep them away from the two young tributes and their escort, who keeps babbling about how they're going to _love _the Capitol. Milo nods quietly, looking too dumbfounded about everything to process what their escort is saying, and Sansa only half-listens to him most of the time. She listens to the clicks and flashes of the cameras and the way the journalists keep asking the most intimate questions about both of them — how long have Milo and Hannah been dating, does Sansa have a boyfriend, did they know each other from school before being reaped together — and wonders quietly what would have happened if any other girl from her District had gotten reaped instead of her. She would have snickered about her looks or her popularity rank with her school friends, relieved about how they had managed to weasel out of getting reaped for yet another year, and then she would have run up to her father and he would have enveloped her in a warm hug before giving her some money, after which she would have probably spent the rest of the day shopping and drinking bubble tea with her clique. But she _did _get reaped, and she _is_ on her way to the Capitol instead of hanging out with her friends, and so for once in her relatively young life she realizes that there is absolutely nothing she can do about the situation that she has wound up in.

She shares an awkward glance with Milo once they get to the train station, which has been emptied for them and their escort and mentors. The train that will take them to the Capitol is a recently designed top-model bullet train that should get them across the country in a little over twelve hours, which is a largely impressive feat taking Panem's size into account and the lack of resources that followed the Dark Days. Their escort reminds them of the way the Capitol and the Districts worked together to make their country great again, and Sansa almost smiles when she realizes that Milo has spent half of their escort's speech scoffing and rolling his eyes behind the Capitolite's back. She would have normally felt appalled by his lack of patriotism, but she isn't all that sure about her feelings for their country anymore, so she just laughs quietly as they follow their escort inside the train.

She takes one last glance at District Three before boarding the train, and realizes that it might be the last time she sees her hometown with her own two eyes.

* * *

**Ahhhh we're finally getting to see the different dynamics between District partners — ngl that's one of my favorite things about SYOT's. Anyhoo! I hope this chapter was all right. The next one with deal with the District Four train ride — which should be fun too — and then we will finally get to the Capitol yeet! I'm so excited about this story ahhh. I can't wait for you guys to see what's in store! Until then, please do let me know what you thought of this one via review. :)**

**-s.**


	7. District 4 - Train Ride

**District Four**

**Train Rides — Seven days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Kai Anderson — 2:00 PM**

Kai doesn't realize that he is fiddling with his sushi roll until his District partner points it out, disdain more than visible in her eyes.

"Don't mess with it if you aren't gonna eat it, weirdo."

He looks up and frowns at the girl, who just shrugs as she pops another sashimi roll into her mouth. He has known Mercia Hollis all his life — they went to the same class growing up, and he happens to know that she used to date the boy who kept bullying him all through middle school because of what had happened to his little brother. He doesn't like her all that much, he reckons, but he knows he will probably need her to get in the Career pack, so he just shrugs and leaves the piece of sushi on his plate.

"I'm not hungry." His tone is polite, but he intends to let her know that he doesn't feel like talking right now. He has always been reserved that way, especially around those who went to school with him and knew him back when his little brother Caido passed away.

"Just eat it, will you?" Mercia frowns. "It's just fish and algae and rice."

"I know, but it just looks like such a waste of food," Kai replies. "Like they're purposely missing on the best part of the fish and the algae to make this chic dish that real people don't even eat anymore."

"What do you mean, _real people_?" Mercia replies. "_I _eat sushi all the time. It's not my fault if you guys don't get to eat fish that way."

_You guys_. Kai can't help but snort quietly — because he knows precisely what Mercia means by that. You poor kids who weren't lucky enough to be brought up in a decent family, who have had to fish for a living; who left school at fourteen and never even considered the possibility of becoming a Career trainee like her. Inequality is one of District Four's heaviest problems, and Kai has always known that his family falls on the poorer side of the scale — he has never really minded it, because he is perfectly capable of living without all the luxury that surrounded Mercia and her friends while growing up, but he sometimes thinks that Caido might still be alive if his family had been wealthier, because Kai would have never taken him to the beach to help him fish that day to begin with.

"Nevermind," he mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. She wouldn't understand, he tells himself bitterly, because Kai knows that, in spite of having been born and raised in the same District, he and Mercia have nothing in common aside from their wavy red hair. The girl simply shrugs and reaches for another piece of Kobe beef from across the table, smiling fondly at the quality of the meat.

Kai's eyes glance distractedly towards the HD television in front of them, where the District Two reaping is currently being replayed. He analyzes both tributes carefully, wondering if they are trained Careers like Mercia or mere unfortunate children like himself. The girl looks particularly young, and it breaks his heart to think that she is going to be on the younger side of the tribute spectrum, which will probably mean that she won't last long if she doesn't have the required training. Will _he_ last long, though? He is only sixteen, but he feels as though his mind is much older — he has lived through a lot over the past few years, especially since Caido's passing. His father's indifference and his sister Luna's resent (which is borderline abusive at times) make him feel even guiltier about what happened to Caido, and his never-ending remorse has made him a much more standoffish person — he will probably struggle at finding allies, even though he generally means well and knows he would benefit from an alliance with someone who can even out his lack of theoretical knowledge on the Games.

"Bet that one's a fag," Mercia snorts, pointing at the television with her fork. "He looks all girly and weak — he'll _never_ make it into the Career pack, I'm telling you."

Kai frowns. He has never understood why other people feel so strongly about homosexuals — he certainly doesn't feel attracted to men, but he doesn't really understand what's wrong with other boys liking them instead of girls, or why girls shouldn't like each other instead of boys. He just shrugs, avoiding Mercia's brown eyes as he stares at the TV.

"It does look like he has been trained for the Games," he points out. "He seems strong enough, unlike the girl."

"Neither of them stands a chance," Mercia replies, then sighs a little. "Thank God there's the District One kids — they look way more prepared for the Games than those two."

Kai shrugs again, not knowing whether he wants to join the Career pack just yet. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, because he knows they are usually very selective and form a very close-knit clique within the first few days of training, but the possibility of the other tributes being weaker than usual might help him stand out more. The District One girl looks sort of scary (a bit like Mercia does, he tells himself), but the boy seems nice enough. He rubs his fingers against the rope bracelet that Caido made for him when he was little, wondering what he would do if he were in his place. He would be ten by now, a fierce, adventurous boy for sure; he sadly thinks of how he would have seen him off with a brave smile and encouraging words if he had still been alive. Nobody had come to see him off to the Justice Building — his father was too busy with his new wife, and his sister had only vaguely waved him off before leaving the town square with her friends. He had spent half an hour just sitting there, staring at the wall and wondering if he really did deserve what was happening to him. He hasn't drawn any conclusions yet, though — he still blames himself for what happened to Caido, but there's a little voice in the back of his head telling him he shouldn't mortify himself so much because, after all, he had done nothing wrong that day.

"Dude, did you even _sleep_ at all last night?" Mercia asks, frowning. "You look like a fucking zombie."

"Uh," Kai replies cluelessly, shrugging his shoulders. In all honesty, he doesn't feel as though he has had a proper night's sleep in the past four years at the very least. "I dunno. I was anxious about the Reaping."

Mercia snorts before stuffing even more food in her mouth. Kai can't help but think that she eats _way_ too much for someone in such good shape.

"You're such a wimp," she laughs — and it isn't in a kind tone. Kai frowns, which only makes her laugh harder. "What? It's true. Some kids at school called you Kai Loonison back in the day, didn't you know?"

He didn't, as a matter of fact. He had been so caught up in his own grief that he had forgotten about pretty much everyone else during his last years of school — he had distanced himself from his friends and buried himself in self-pity and anguish, which resulted in most kids calling him names and singling him out most of the time. He has never really cared about it, but it hurts to think that Mercia might be able to use his past against him once they get to the Capitol.

"We don't have to be friends," Mercia continues, in a somewhat condescending tone, "In fact, I don't _want_ to be your friend. Or anyone's friend, for that matter — I just want to find a suitable alliance and just kill them off whenever I feel like I don't need them anymore."

Kai blinks repeatedly, surprised by the bluntness of it all. He really can't believe Mercia thinks it is all right to be _this_ open about her strategy for the Games, but the girl just smiles and leans back on her chair as she watches the District Five Reaping distractedly. She even laughs a little when she sees the girl's reaction, and Kai can only stare and wonder how someone could grow up so detached from reality, so utterly desensitized about what surrounds her, and not feel the lightest sense of remorse about it. He observes the way Mercia laughs at the District Five escort's jokes, and how she even hums to the national anthem as though there's nothing she would rather be listening to right now. His stomach churns in revolt, and he quickly realizes that he is feeling nauseated by the way his District partner seems to see the world and the people who inhabit it — as mere pieces of a bigger game who are worth pretty much nothing, and that are simply there to be used by her at her own will. He thinks he hates her at first, but then he realizes that he doesn't hate Mercia herself, but rather the person the Capitol and their District system have made her become. He wonders what she would have been like in a world with no Hunger Games to train for — whether she would have been a nice person, or at least a somewhat decent one. They will never know, he gathers, and there's nothing he can do about it, either.

He just sighs and looks through the window, missing the beaches of District Four like he never has before.

* * *

**Mercia Hollis — 6:50 PM**

Mercia is still wearing her Reaping clothes by the time she looks at her reflection in her private bathroom mirror. She had picked her white jacket and slacks herself after her mother bought her the black button-down that she is currently wearing — she hadn't liked it much at first, but she now reckons that her mother was right about it pointing out her best features.

Mercia smiles fondly at the thought of her mother, Perla. She has always admired her, which is definitely saying something coming from her — she has never really admired anyone before, but her mother is as close as it gets. She intended to become a Career before dropping out of training because her parents had decided that they would rather marry her off to a wealthy merchant than lose her to the Games. She had been furious at first, her mother told her, but she now thought her parents had been right — marrying Roland had been an excellent social move, and she was now getting to train her own daughter for the Games. The plan had been to have Mercia volunteer after turning eighteen, but she doesn't really mind having been reaped a couple years earlier than planned — she hasn't completed her training, yes, but she (naïvely) feels as though she is readier for the Games than most kids out there. The Career pack will not be as strong this year, and they will definitely need a goal-oriented leader who can get them through the first days of the Games without some other kid killing them off in their sleep, and Mercia suspects that she will find no resistance when she offers to become the pack's leader. The District One girl looks a little threatening, sure, but Mercia knows how to manipulate girls like her into submission — she reminds her of most of her Career center friends, bloodthirsty but ultimately gullible, and she knows that it will only take a moderate amount of boasting before the girl realizes she's the strongest member of the pack.

She looks at her reflection and smiles until she realizes that one of the buttons of her jacket is hanging loose from its thread, which makes her face contort in disgust. She tries to fit it back in, but only breaks the already fragile thread into two, which makes her groan and punch the wall next to her quietly. She furiously takes her jacket off and tosses it to the floor, grimacing at the remnants of the thread that had once held the button that now rests in the palm of her hand. She quietly mutters something about how their Avox housemaid should have re-sewed it before placing it back in her wardrobe, the little bitch, and curses for a good five minutes before tossing the button next to the jacket. She _hates_ it when things aren't symmetrical, and it infuriates her to think that there is nothing she can do about her goddamn jacket right now — she doesn't even tolerate it within her eyesight, and so she stomps on it several times before thrusting it under her bed. The weather is usually quite warm in the Capitol anyway, she tells herself, and she won't need that sorry excuse of a jacket once they get there. Her panic attacks over her OCD tend to give her severe migraines, and so she pops a painkiller out of the packet her mother had given her back at the Justice Building and downs it after filling herself a glass of water, still mumbling coarse words about her family's Avox and the way her District's clothing stores are complete and utter garbage anyway.

Nearly half an hour goes by before someone knocks at her door. She is now lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling on top of her — the train ride to the Capitol from District Four is one of the longest ones, since they practically have to cross the entire country to get there, and their train has been equipped for the tributes and mentors to live in utmost luxury during the ride.

"Mercia?" She recognizes her mentor's voice immediately. He is one of the most popular (and most handsome) men in District Four in spite of being nearly fifty years old, and Mercia has known him all his life and even had a bit of a crush on him when she was a little girl (which she will never acknowledge now, not even under the harshest of tortures).

She silently makes her way to the door and opens it to find Finnick Odair smiling one of his dashing, bright smiles at her — which she barely acknowledges with a light nod herself.

"Gunnie just told me dinner is to be served at seven," he explains. "Annie and Kai are already waiting for us, and I just wanted to check whether you were feeling all right."

"Yeah," she replies, shrugging. "I'm totally okay. Let's go get dinner, then."

Finnick nods politely, but then adds, "You're _sure_ you're fine, right? I know better than anyone else that being reaped can be a bit of a shock, even if you're already training to volunteer for the Games. I just wanted to make sure — "

"I'm _fine_," Mercia cuts him off, a rough edge to her words. She closes her door behind her and gives Finnick a dubious glance before adding, "I was going to volunteer in a couple of years anyway. I'm ready, and I'm not going to sulk around like Kai does just because this wasn't in my plan. _I'm_ going to train the hardest, and I'm gonna get the highest score after the Gamemakers see what I'm capable of. So stop worrying about me, because I really am fine — if anything, I'm a little pissed off by how everyone keeps telling me how I should feel about getting reaped when it's totally something that I had been prepared for, since my family has _never_ taken tesserae before."

She notices that Finnick doesn't look all too pleased by her little speech, but the man simply shrugs, distancing himself from the girl he is supposed to mentor for the next few weeks.

"All right, you're fine then," he repeats. "I'm sure there's plenty you're capable of, but let me offer you some free advice — don't hold yourself in such high regard. Some of the poorer Districts may still surprise you."

Mercia has to refrain herself from rolling her eyes and nods uninterestedly. "Duly noted." Finnick frowns again, but the girl simply adds, in a merrier (and faker) voice, "Let's go get dinner now, shall we?"

Her mentor looks severely annoyed by her attitude by now, but Mercia just smirks to herself and tells herself that she doesn't need him to get sponsors. She will become the Capitol's newest and prettiest doll, and she will ace her interview with Octavius Flickerman like no one else quite has in the history of the Hunger Games — she is here to win, after all, and there is nothing in Finnick's false modesty that may change her mind about that.

Finnick takes a seat next to Annie at the table, largely ignoring her presence and greeting Kai by ruffling the boy's hair. Mercia assumes that the two mentors like her District partner out of pity, or something of the sort — Annie Cresta literally lost her mind during her Games, Mercia tells herself, so she gathers she might see at least some parts of herself in the boy sitting next to her, who pretty much went crazy after his little brother died in a fishing accident when he was just six years old. Mercia has never really cared for that sort of stuff, but she remembers seeing him in class the day after it happened, looking all dazed and confused about everything, and she remembers having pitied the boy for the slightest of seconds. She doesn't know if she still feels that way about him, but she definitely knows that Kai is a total weakling compared to her — which is precisely why he might come in handy while forming the Career alliance. A tragic story of loss and grief will definitely help her catch other tributes' attention, and the wealthier ones may even feel drawn to her poor District partner out of sheer pity. Perhaps she should treat him nicer from now on, she reasons, and even smiles at him when the boy asks if she's feeling all right.

Instead of biting back at him like she did earlier, she replies, "Oh, I'm in _such_ a bright mood, actually."

* * *

**Tadaah! Hope you lot enjoyed this one. Next one up — District Five + Arrival at the Capitol, including their first stylist prep talk and their accommodations at the Training Center! As always, please do let me know what you thought of this chapter via review. :)**

**-s.**


	8. District 5 - Arrival at the Capitol

**District Five**

**Arrival to the Capitol — Seven days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Jonas Slaine — 4:00 PM**

The Capitol has always terrified Jonas, but he can't help but whistle in amazement when he first steps onto its cobbled streets, the quiet humdrum of its newest cars almost lulling him to sleep in the middle of the day.

"Close your mouth," Arya warns him, "you'll catch flies."

Jonas just glares at the girl quietly and follows their mentors to the limousine that will take them to the Training Center. He attempted a first approach during their train ride, suggesting that they should form an alliance and recruit more of the younger tributes, but Arya had just laughed the idea off and bluntly said that she would very much rather be on her own than drag 'some little boy' around. Jonas's nostrils had flared in a hint of anger — not only because he deemed himself old enough at age twelve, but also because he simply wasn't used to people turning him down like that. He has always been on the more popular side on his District, with an ample group of friends and a loving family that never treated him with anything other than a relentless love. He isn't exactly used to feeling rejected, and Arya's harsh indifference upset him quite a bit. The girl whistles carelessly behind him, whereas Jonas, blatantly seeking to annoy her at this point, just trots down the street until he reaches the limousine, where a stern-looking chauffeur is waiting for them and whose duty is barely acknowledged by their escort and mentors with a mere nod.

"Thank you!" Jonas smiles broadly at the male Avox who opens the door for him, who just frowns in surprise and backs away from him, scurrying back into the driver's seat. Arya snickers next to him, and Jonas can't help but glare back at her before asking, "What?"

"You're ridiculous," Arya declares, a snort visible on her face as she takes a seat in front of their mentors; Jonas is expected to follow suit, but he is too dumbfounded to do so. "You're not supposed to thank them or anything."

"Well, I wanted to, because he was being helpful," he protests, and finally takes a seat next to her, feeling all small and stupid and very possibly a little hurt by the way nobody is backing him up.

"He's not being helpful because he wants to. He's an Avox, you idiot."

Jonas frowns. "What's that?"

Arya rolls her eyes and shakes her head a little. "My, you really are a dumbass, aren't you?" She laughs at the expression on Jonas's face, and then explains, "Avox are people who have been punished for rebelling against the Capitol. They get their tongues cut or pulled out with tonsils after being accused of, I don't know, treason or some bullshit like that; they then become slaves for the Capitol and the wealthier Districts to traffic with. That's why you needn't thank them — they aren't being helpful because they want to, but rather because they're being _forced_ to. That's pretty much how this entire system works, you — "

"I think that's enough, Arya," their escort offers the girl a smile, but there is also a hint of sternness on his face. Arya purses her lips, but ultimately shrugs and crosses her arms before taking a distracted look through the window.

Jonas gulps, but decides that he would very much rather remain silent after Arya's little speech. He doesn't want to believe what she is saying, but there _is _some sense behind it — he knows that traitors are treated harshly by the Capitol, and his father told him once about the Dark Days and what happened during the District Thirteen rebellion, but the comfort of his own upbringing has generally sheltered him from the dark that surely has surrounded Arya's lonely childhood in the District Five orphanage. He doesn't want to _hate_ her, not really, but her world has nothing to do with his, and he wishes that the inevitable crash between the two of them hadn't been so sudden and harsh.

He silently reflects on it all as the skyscrapers, parks and lakes dash past the limousine windows, and he can't help but peer out in surprise when he sees a large family passing by, the eldest kid running behind the strangest dog Jonas has ever seen.

"It's a genetically modified Border Collie," their escort explains fondly. "It stays a puppy for its whole life. They thought they'd be more appealing to families and young children, because having a perpetual puppy is, well, cuter than an actual grown-up dog."

Jonas cringes, thinking of the stray dogs that he usually fed after school back in District Five. A few of them were quite old, and Jonas had never really minded it — he silently wonders what Capitolites have against nature following its course, and then realizes that the information about the genetically modified dogs has been provided to him by a man with bright yellow skin and purple eyes, and suddenly it all makes a lot more sense to him. He barely acknowledges his escort's explanation with a light nod, which seems to please the young man after Arya's disdainful snort.

He wonders what his parents would think of it all. They are both doctors, and they have always passive-aggressively dismissed what Capitol trends reached their Districts, claiming that they were merely shallow and vain attempts at forgetting that other people were starving to death. He and his sister Quinn never really understood why they looked down on the Capitol like that, but he feels as though he might be beginning to understand his parents' reasoning. Still, his more optimistic side tells him to just go with the flow and enjoy it all while it lasts.

He thinks of Zoey, his best friend back home, and how she may feel when she sees him on television — she's the butcher's daughter, and her family has never been as wealthy as Jonas's, so she took a few tesserae earlier that year thinking that she was more likely to get reaped than her best friend, a thought that amuses Jonas immensely right now. They have been friends for as long as Jonas can remember, and there is something undeniably tenacious about Zoey, which makes him think that she would have a better shot at winning the Games than he does right now. She, after all, knows a lot more about the world than he does — she is wise beyond her years and knows how to fend for herself and her loved ones in times of need; Jonas, on the other hand, is but a scared twelve-year-old who has barely ever taken care of himself. He presses his hand against the cold surface of the pocket watch that his father gave him as a token, silently tracing the Caduceus engraved on it. He thinks of his parents, of his sister Quinn, of Zoey, of Rowan, of Charles. He misses them already, and he wishes he would just wake up from the nightmare that has been his life for the past twenty-four hours, but he knows that he can't let them see him like this — he is used to being the light that brights up his household, always telling jokes and pulling pranks to lighten up the mood. He needs to be strong for them, and he needs to be strong for himself, he thinks quietly. He cried a lot while walking onstage when he first got reaped, and he had also cried in the Justice Building, becoming a mere puddle of sadness when Quinn had hugged him tight and begged him to stay. But the crying stage is over now, and he needs to put on a happy face and play his usual enthusiastic self in front of the Capitol, even if he feels like dying when he is on his own.

He is going to do it for them, he decides. For the people he loves and for those who might be watching, afraid of the way the Capitol is able to creep under their country's twelve-year-olds' skins and suck the life out of them.

* * *

**Arya Wolf — 5:00 PM**

Arya has only turned fifteen, but she feels as though she has lived through a lifetime of misery already.

She was abandoned on the doorstep of the District Five orphanage when she was a baby, and was raised there with Will, Tessa, and Jem, who are practically the only family she has ever known; they even decided to run away from the orphanage and their caretakers' abusive methods shortly after Arya turned eleven. They have been living on the streets ever since, with Will working as a bus driver and the other three sneaking around and stealing food and supplies — which earned Arya and her friends a whipping or two over the course of the years. She still brands a set of scars on her right arm from being bit by a Peacekeeper's dog, but the toughest scars were those she carried on the inside, such as Jem's recent passing after an undiagnosed tuberculosis, or the way Tessa had held her tight against her chest, crying in front of her for the first time in their lives, when Arya had gotten reaped. They had always avoided taking tesserae, because they didn't want to give the Capitol the satisfaction of being merciful towards them, but their strategy had turned against them after all.

She doesn't feel surprised when her stylist grimaces at her outfit. She is still wearing her Reaping clothes — a dark grey t-shirt, black leggings, combat boots, and a black leather jacket that used to be Jem's — and she refused to take a shower during the train ride, so she is still looking a bit disheveled from her general lack of hygiene, with patches of mud and scabs and perhaps even a louse or two clinging to her brown hair, cropped in a _garçon _style by her friend Tessa earlier that year to prevent them from getting lice during the summer. She instinctively touches a hand to her head and snorts when one of her stylist's helpers groans something about her haircut being 'too unfashionable' — which pretty much sums up the entirety of Arya's current outfit.

"Well, let's see what we can do," her head stylist offers kindly. She is young, Arya realizes, and her cheeks are still plump and a little rosy. She hasn't lost her baby fat yet — unlike Arya, who at fifteen has a sharp, impossibly thin face. "Dunia, go fix her a bath. Poppy — you'll do her nails straight afterwards, won't you? We need to get those cuticles straightened out."

Arya doesn't really know what a cuticle is, but she just shrugs in agreement as her stylist's helpers fuss around her. She generally hates being touched by strangers but, as much of a hothead as she may be, she knows that she simply cannot leave the room without at least letting them shave, bathe, and possibly even disinfect her.

"Just leave my hair alone, will you?" She asks, perhaps a little too sharply. "I don't want it changed. You can wash it and comb it a little if you want, but that's it."

Her stylist exchanges a glance with one of her helpers, but ultimately sighs in agreement.

"All right. The boyish look does kind of suit you, I guess." The woman then takes out an electronic tablet and shows Arya a few dresses, sliding past the different designs so fast that Arya doesn't even have enough time to process what she is seeing on the rectangular screen. "I designed these after watching your Reaping on TV, but I suppose you're not exactly a fan of dresses, are you?" Arya wrinkles her nose at the sight of them and her stylist chuckles lightly. "Yeah, I figured. So how about I try and come up with something else while you take a bath?"

Arya frowns, because she doesn't really understand why the woman is acting all nice around her instead of yelling and commanding her to do this or that like she had imagined she would do, but she decides that it is not the right time to try and piss her off and offers her a quiet nod.

"Sure thing," she replies coolly, and takes her leather jacket off before adding, "I don't really care as long as I get to wear a pair of pants and something comfortable."

The woman chuckles and nods. "I'll try my best, Arya Wolf."

Arya frowns, because nobody ever uses her surname anymore — she is just Arya to her friends, and everyone else pretty much just calls her 'girl' or meaner things when they bump into her on the street. She has almost forgotten what it feels like to smile, but she tries her best in an attempt at pleasing her stylist, who just smiles in return and even winks an eye at her. She knows she can trust nobody in a place like the Capitol, much less someone who is supposed to prepare her and make her look appealing to sponsors, but she has to admit it _does_ feel nice to be treated like a human being by someone who comes from a place so detached from reality.

She steps into the bathroom, letting the warm, fuzzy steam fill her nostrils. She is here because she has been reaped for the Hunger Games, but she gathers she might as well enjoy the pampering while it lasts. Because Arya has never really known luxury or even a decent, loving household, and she could definitely do with some spoiling before the Games begin.

* * *

**Atticus Waterhouse — 6:00 PM**

"Mommy, the Opening Ceremony is about to begin!"

Atticus trots back to the living room, a thrilled expression on his face. He has been following the reapings closely, and he has even selected three or four tributes that he really wants to follow closely — he feels very excited about the upcoming Chariot Rides and seeing President Heydrich on TV yet again, wishing all twenty-four tributes the best of luck for the Hunger Games.

His mother, on the other hand, is beginning to feel a little tired of it all.

"Coming, sweetheart."

Marceline glances at Wilma, who is dutifully folding her husband's clothes in the kitchen, and for the first time in her life she wonders whether she had a family before she started working for them. She must have been thirty or thirty-two when she got arrested, Wilma gathers, because she has been with them for the past eight years or so and she now looks a little over forty. She has never really bothered asking her how old she is, or what her birthday is, she realizes — the Waterhouse family simply assumed that she would always be there to clean and fix things after them, and they had never really bothered thinking of her as an actual human being. Wilma isn't even her real name, for Christ's sake — Marceline feels a pang of guilt when she imagines the possibility of her being a mother before she got arrested and had her tongue cut out — a mother like herself, to a child like Atticus or one of his friends from school. For all they know, she might as well have had an entire family who still mourn her loss to this day — and yet the mere possibility has never even crossed her mind until now, which makes Marceline feel somewhat embarrassed and even a little mortified. She raises her hand, attempting an awkward wave at their Avox, but clenches it into a fist when she realizes how inappropriate it would be. She sighs, frustrated by her own thoughts, and follows her son inside the living room.

"What took you so long?" Atticus's eyes are already glued to the television screen, and he only acknowledges her presence in the room by waving distractedly at her. "Come on, it's supposed to begin in like five minutes!"

Marceline nods, taking a seat next to her son. She ruffles his hair distractedly, but Atticus doesn't even glance back at her.

"Who are your favorites so far?" She asks, in an attempt at making conversation with him.

"Uh, well," Atticus shrugs. "It's too soon to tell like the presenter just said, but I really like Evander and the girl from Five, I think. She looks like a boy, but I think her style is pretty cool. She's an orphan, or something like that."

"An orphan?" Marceline echoes distractedly. Wilma's hypothetical family slips into her mind yet again, and she has to rub the tip of her fingers against her temples before replying, "She's a little scrawny, don't you think? I'm not sure if she'll make it that far. Don't get too attached, baby."

"Nah, I'm all right," Atticus shrugs. "I also really like the other girl from One and the girl from Four — they look like real badasses."

"I'm sure they are, honey," his mother smiles, patting his head, and looks up at the screen. Her mind is still elsewhere, though — she is thinking of Wilma and her past and the family that she might have had before she was arrested, and she can't help but wonder if one of those kids who are now parading in front of the entire country might have known her before her tongue was cut out.

She sighs, realizing that she probably will never know.

* * *

**This chapter ended up being shorter than usual, but I really wanted to get it done so that we could move on to the Opening Ceremony (from the District 6 POV) and the Training sessions, which should expand throughout Districts 7, 8, and possibly 9. I'm not particularly proud of how this one came out, but I hope you lot enjoyed it anyway! Please let me know what you thought of it via review and yaddah yaddah yaddah. See you all very soon!**

**-s.**


	9. District 6 - Chariot Ride

**District Six**

**Opening Ceremony — Seven days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Drew Coleson — 6:00 PM**

"Hey, I'm Jonas! Nice to meet you."

Drew offers the District Five boy a bright smile before shaking his hand. Most of the tributes are just awkwardly standing around and avoiding the Career's analytical glares, but Drew decided earlier that morning that he has to make as many friends as he can while in the Capitol. It will be harder for those kids to kill him in the Arena if they have bonded before the Games, after all, and Drew's social skills have always been excellent — he has even managed to crack his uber-shy District partner's shell during their train ride, and that is definitely saying something.

"Hi, Jonas," Anouk whispers next to them, offering the boy a feeble smile.

Drew has always liked her, in a fraternal sort of way. They've been classmates since kindergarten, and they were practically next to each other when they got reaped; Drew's mother had worked for the Gainsbourgs in the past, and Colette, Anouk's mother, had even helped her find a second job after Drew's father passed away. The Colesons have always felt a deep respect towards the much wealthier Gainsbourgs — not because they demanded it, but rather because they were lovable in their own, introverted way. In a way, Drew feels as though he owes something to Mr. and Mrs. Gainsbourg for everything they did for his mother after his father's untimely passing, and he has vowed to himself that he will pay them back by keeping their daughter safe for as long as he can. His friends at school have always regarded Anouk as the odd girl out, mocking her and snickering whenever she was around, but Drew has always defended her in front of the more popular kids at school, simply because he feels thankful for everything Anouk and her parents have done for them over the course of the years.

He smiles when he realizes that Jonas and Anouk have engaged in small talk, comparing their similar childhoods back in their Districts. Anouk's father, Philippe, comes from a long line of French doctors who had once moved to what had been the United States, and they had somehow managed to keep that very characteristic French air about them in spite of having lived in what was now Panem for several generations. He replies to Jonas's enthusiastic remarks about the Capitol by grinning and nodding, instantly liking the young boy's attitude towards the Games — he can see that he is feeling a little worried about it all, but relentlessly attempts to bury it all under a thick layer of friendliness that feels almost contagious. The boy drones on and on about his friends at school and his family and his very best friend Zoey until the District Five escort comes looking for him, admonishing him for having disappeared on his stylists right before the chariot ride. Drew and Anouk exchange an amused glance, and then tell the younger boy that they will see him after the Opening Ceremony, and Jonas just grins and nods in agreement, visibly thrilled by the idea of having made friends among the other tributes already.

"What a handful of a kid," Anouk muses, a half-smile on her face. Her thick black hair has been pulled up in a ponytail, and Drew realizes it is in fact the first time he sees her face without her bushy black curls framing it. She looks pretty, he reckons, and smiles at the idea of the girls in their class just lying back on their couches and complaining about how they'd look absolutely stunning too if a Capitol stylist gave them a makeover like Anouk's.

"He is," Drew agrees. He presses his palm against the rusty nail that his father gave him before he passed away, and tells himself he would love to know that he is taking care of Anouk Gainsbourg, and that they are both befriending a twelve-year-old who is probably in need of a friend after being dumped by his District partner. "Let's go get ready, shall we?"

Anouk nods, and the two of them set foot towards their chariot. It is metallic and perfectly round, with wide railroad tracks wrapped around it, and the platform where Drew and Anouk will be standing is black and almost coal-like. Drew doesn't really know who came up with the idea, but he can't help but find it all a little shallow — their outfits are already inspired by their District's main industry, and there really is no need in pointing it out by styling their chariot around the very same theme, too. Anouk seems to feel a similar sense of ambivalence towards it, because she just closes her eyes and shakes her head a little before their stylists can reprimand them again for not acting all too enthusiastic about their ideas.

"Hey, it's gonna be fun, right?" Drew says, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm _sure_ it'll be fun. Just relax and forget about everyone else, all right?"

Anouk shrugs, but ultimately offers him a small smile. "Yeah, I guess. It's just that I hate being in the spotlight and well, I've been in it pretty much since I got reaped. You're a natural at this, but I... I really am the worst at well, being _liked_."

"I like you well enough, if that helps," Drew offers, a sincere smile on his face. He steps onto their carriage and offers her his hand, and the girl accepts it with a feeble smile on her face.

"Our stylists are _so _gonna kill us if they find out we've been messing with our outfits before the chariot rides." Anouk laughs softly, and Drew cannot help but smile, too. Being reaped feels both as a nightmare and as a dream come true to him — he dreads the possibility of dying, but at the same time he is enjoying every bit of attention that he has received ever since he got reaped. He knows Anouk feels differently about it, obviously, but he is secretly glad to have her by his side instead of some other moron from their District who might have deemed herself too important to hang out with someone like Drew, who had never been exactly wealthy and came from a rather broken household. But Anouk has never cared for that sort of stuff, and Drew will always feel thankful because of it.

Their stylists do get a little upset when they see that Anouk's refined hairstyle has been twisted into a mere ponytail, but the two teenagers simply share a knowing glance and smile at each other before obliging to whatever their stylists tell them to do once the Chariot Ride begins. Once they're ready and good to go, Drew shoots a small smile towards Anouk, whose breathing has become only slightly more labored.

"It's going to be absolutely fine, An," he reminds her, before giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll have some fun with the other tributes and then listen to President Heydrich's speech and then we'll go get dinner with our mentors, all right?"

Anouk gulps as the curtain falls and the chariots from One and Two begin moving towards the illuminated streets of the Capitol, with a crowd happily cheering them on as they race in front of them, and nods quietly before placing both of her hands on the rails that surround their chariot.

"Let's show them who we are and where we come from," she says. "Let's show them we're not afraid."

Drew does a half-smile and places his hands on the railroad tracks, too. He thinks of his father, of the rusty nail hidden under his sleeve, of the way his mother had let go of it when her only son had gotten reaped, and of how his mother and father had loved each other passionately until his father's very last dying breath. Drew owes them everything, and he wants to pay them back by winning the Games and helping his mother out with his Victor pay.

And he knows he can't win _and _protect Anouk at the same time, but he vows to himself that he will try his best at both things from now on.

* * *

**Anouk Gainsbourg — 6:30 PM**

Anouk's family has always been ridiculously wealthy, but she has never felt more or less deserving of the fate that awaits her once the Games begin because of it. She has never judged people for the family they were born into — she doesn't judge the Careers who were raised in ample luxury and wealth, and she doesn't judge those who were born in the slums and had to fend for themselves from a very early age. She knows she is no better or worse than any other citizen of Panem just because of her social status, and she has always thought that, if anything, her family's well-being was a reminder of how much she owed the unluckier people of Panem, because of the way the hierarchical structure of their District and the country itself had largely benefitted her family over the course of the years while sucking the life out of the large working class that maintained their country on its feet.

That is why President Heydrich's speech throws her off a little — because, in spite of the Quarter Quell's theme, he is practically apologizing to those wealthy parents who have had their sons and daughters taken away from them because they have never needed to take the tesserae like those poor, filthy slum kids do.

"We Capitolites will never understand the struggle that decent families are put through in the Districts," Heydrich reasons. "They remained loyal to us during the Dark Days and we gave them back what they deserved — care, nurturing, shelter, money to fund their businesses. Nothing more, nothing less. It does seem unfair that we should claim their children after all they went through for us — but at the end of the day, the Government of Panem feels as though the Quarter Quell theme should be respected in regard of our holy ancestors, honoring their perception of the Hunger Games as a terrain where all social and economic differences are eradicated and the tributes fight each other in equal opportunity of going back to their families."

Anouk has to hold back a snort. Speaking of equality in a country reigned by a single city and where three Districts practically prepared its children for the Hunger Games while others hardly managed to prevent its citizens from dying sounds just about as fair as the reaping system, uprooted in the country's hierarchical inequality. She clenches her hand into a fist and only calms down when Drew places a hand on her back, silently warning her not to draw too much attention to them — they are being observed by the entire country right now, after all.

"One way or another, I want to give these twenty-four tributes a very warm welcome to the Capitol," Heydrich continues, "I hope your days here are as bright and as fruitful as we all expect them to be, and I can assure you — all of our citizens are _dying_ to watch you grow, fall into alliances, break apart, fight each other, and learn all sorts of new skills that you may have never gotten to develop before. You are all sons and daughters of Panem, and you are all getting to honor the history of your country by participating in the Hunger Games — because of that, my dear children, I feel as though you may have already won. Let the Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The entire square erupts into loud cheers and claps, with people whooping out the names of some of the more popular tributes. Anouk just looks around and waves meekly, repeating Drew's every gesture and wishing for this Hell of a ceremony to be over already. President Heydrich bows at the twenty-four tributes, offering them one of his devilish smiles, and then turns around to light the fire that signals the beginning of the Hunger Games. It is burning brighter than usual, Anouk notes, probably because of the Quarter Quell. She narrows her eyes at the sight of the yellow and orange flame, its sizzling and sputtering hardly audible over the Capitolites' loud cheering. Anouk wonders what her parents must be thinking of her right now — whether they feel proud, worried, or downright scared. Probably a bit of all three, she reasons, but there is something about having been ripped apart from them that has been killing her ever since she first got reaped. She has always led a very sheltered lifestyle, being the only child of a very wealthy couple, and her parents have also been, in a way, her best friends. The idea of dying does not bother her half as much as the possibility of ruining her parents' lives with her own death, and the realization of it makes her feel even more scared about the Games and what might happen over the next few days.

Once they all hop off their carriages, she observes the way the other tributes interact around her. The kids from One seem to get along — to a superficial degree, at least — and the girl from Four has already approached them, which suggests a future alliance between them. The kids from Two don't look like the average Careers, but the girl is quick on her feet and the boy is chatting with the two tributes from Seven, and she gathers he might find an alliance with both of them rather profitable if he doesn't make it into the Career pack. The boy from Four is sitting idly by his chariot, quietly observing how an artificial butterfly hovers over him, and the girl from Five has already left. Jonas, whom they met earlier, is now shaking hands with both kids from Eight, and the boy from Ten is chatting casually with both tributes from Nine. Drew is still standing next to her, making sure she feels all right, and Anouk suddenly feels a pang of guilt — she knows Drew is protecting her out of sheer pity, but she wishes he would just leave and try to make friends or allies instead of sticking by her side. She isn't going to last long, and she wants him to try his best at winning — he isn't exactly great at body-to-body combat, but she knows he is a fast learner and effortlessly charming, and she does feel like she is holding him back from bonding with the rest of the tributes.

"The kids from Twelve really do look a little unhinged, don't they?" Drew asks, a kind smile on his face. "So does the girl from Five, I think. Tough childhood, I assume."

"Yeah," someone agrees behind them, with a thick Southern accent. "Y'all had it real easy compared to them, I think."

Anouk turns around to find the girl from District Ten smiling broadly at the two of them. Anouk saw her Reaping on TV earlier that day — she remembers the way Drew's jaw had dropped at the sight of the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl who hardly matched the Southern stereotype that most of the District Ten citizens fell into. She was the daughter of a wealthy ranch owner, the journalist had explained later, and she had extensive knowledge on horseriding, basic veterinary, and ropes and knots — Anouk can't help but find the idea of such a ladylike girl being so accustomed to strolling around in the wild at least a little amusing. She casts a glance towards Drew, who has been staring at Emmaline the whole time; she will never admit it out loud, but the look in his face makes her chest sink in dismay.

"Pleasure to meet y'all," Emmaline continues, offering them her hand. "I'm Emmaline McArthur, but feel free to call me Em. You're District Six, right? Railroads and everythin'. Y'all wild as Hell, if you ask me."

Anouk's eyebrows rise momentarily in surprise, and quietly thanks Drew's quick response to the girl's words.

"That's rich coming from someone who raises calves for a living," he teases before shaking her hand. "Drew Coleson. We're District Six, yeah." Emmaline beams at him, her dimples showing, and Drew's cheeks turn a light red because of it; Anouk, on the other hand, has to refrain herself from rolling her eyes at the obviousness of it all.

The two of them just smile at each other for a few seconds before Emmaline eyes her again and adds, in an overly sweet tone, "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Uh, Anouk," she replies, awkwardly shaking the girl's hand. "Anouk Gainsbourg."

"Well isn't that a fancy name," Emmaline laughs, and Drew laughs along with her, but stops when he sees the frown that has creased Anouk's eyebrows. Emmaline just coughs and adds, "Well, 'tis been a real pleasure to meet y'all. See you round real soon!"

Drew nods enthusiastically, and even shakes her hand again before echoing, "See you round!"

The girl offers them one last smile before jogging back to her stylist. Anouk can't help but snort when she realizes that Drew is outright _staring_ at the girl's figure in front of them — she has to admit that she is _very_ toned from all the exercising in her ranch, but Anouk knows that there is something fishy about the way the girl has just approached them instead of the Career pack. She doesn't know what she's up to, but she will find out before the Games begin.

"She's quite the darling, isn't she?" Drew asks, a goofy smile still visible on his face. "We should form an alliance with her."

Anouk's upper lip twitches in disgust. "I don't know. She seems a little... shady, I think."

Drew frowns, clearly caught offguard by his District partner's impression on the girl they had just met.

"Really?" He sounds disappointed, which only makes Anouk feel worse about it. "Well, I don't know. Let's not judge her too quickly."

Anouk knows that disliking other girls just because the boy standing next to her happens to like her better is a somewhat shitty move, but she really can't help it. There _is_ something about Emmaline that doesn't sit right with her, and she reminds herself that her instincts have never failed her before. She does know that she needs to cut Drew some slack, though — she didn't think that her District partner would bother talking to her when she first got reaped, let alone that he should be willing to form an alliance with her. So she decides to drop the subject altogether and offers him a small smile, which seems to make Drew feel a little better.

"Damn, I can't wait to see what our first dinner here looks like," she comments, her tone back to its usual softness. "I bet it's going to be outrageously expensive."

"Who cares? Let's enjoy ourselves for a bit before it all goes to waste," Drew offers her a smile, and Anouk can't help but smile in return. Her District partner is right — she needs to enjoy what little time they have left before the Games begin, and she needs to forget about Emmaline and her parents and her imminent death and everything else that has been bothering her ever since their Reaping. She needs to live, and she needs to make the most out of her days in the Capitol.

That is precisely why she grins at the idea of eating until her stomach hurts and getting absolutely _wasted_ with Drew right afterwards.

* * *

**Didn't love the way this chapter turned out either, but oh well. Hope you lot (y'all like Emmaline would say lmao) enjoyed this chapter! Stay tuned for more, and please let me know your thoughts, enquiries, and/or suggestions via review. Thanks a ton!**

**-s.**


	10. District 7 - Training (I)

**District Seven**

**Training (I) — Six days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Eddie Thame — 6:00 AM**

Eddie has never been a morning person, but he finds himself walking down the stairs of the duplex he now shares with his District partner before the first rays of sunlight begin to shine over the Capitol.

He rubs his eyes quietly, stifling a yawn. He had never intended to avoid Florence and their mentors like this — he wants her to know that he trusts her, and that he wants her to be his ally, but he also feels like spending some time on his own before facing the rest of the tributes. He hasn't really had a proper conversation with any of them yet — they chit-chatted with the District Two boy yesterday but it was Florence who did most of the talking, with Eddie just observing them both in a casual silence. It isn't like him not to try and carry the weight of the conversation that he has wound up in, but there was something about Marius that made him feel undeniably intimidated — perhaps it had something to do with his thick, long eyelashes or the way his black curls swished around whenever he turned his head or smiled that big smile of his, but Eddie found himself feeling more interest in what the boy from District Two had to say than in stating his own opinions on various matters, such as the Capitol, the Games or the Reaping process.

His eyebrows rise in surprise when he finds the kitchen crammed with all sorts of fruit, cereals, different types of bread, an assortment of freshly pressed juices, and at least six different types of fresh milk. Eddie's father was the Mayor of District Seven for most of his childhood, meaning that he and his sister Lucia grew up in a rather comfortable environment; he is used to eating three meals a day and snacking whenever he feels like it, but it still shocks him to find such a large amount of food on the kitchen counter. He rubs his father's ring thoughtfully, wondering what he would think of it all. Damien Thame has always been a privileged man, but he has taught his children to know their privileges and use them to help others in whatever way they can. He also wonders what Florence may think when she sees the amount of food that they have been dispensed — he doesn't want to judge her, not at all, but he knows that her family isn't exactly well-off and that the change will definitely come in as a shock for her.

Eddie mulls their budding alliance over as he fixes himself some cereal with fresh milk. He is a year older than Florence and they lived in entirely different neighborhoods back in District Seven, meaning that they had never even seen each other before the Reaping, but he already knows that she is one of the most trustworthy girls he has ever met. They shared long, deep discussions during their train ride, and by the time they got to the Capitol they had already come up with a couple inside jokes and even referred to each other by their nicknames, which never fails to warm Eddie's heart. She reminds him of his sister Lucia, bright-eyed and curious, but also stunningly smart and very goal-oriented. Eddie has always been known in their District for being a first-class flirt and a bit of a womanizer, but he really can't think of Florence that way for some reason — he felt stunned by his own lack of romantic or sexual interest in her at first, but he stopped worrying about it once he realized he likes her in a very fraternal, almost childish sort of way. Florence, in return, doesn't judge him in spite of knowing where he comes from and the reputation that precedes him, and instead has become one of the best allies that Eddie could have ever asked for.

Once his stomach is full, he guiltily leaves the rest of the food there for Florence and their escorts, and jogs back to the living room while zipping up the hi-tech hoodie that they were all handed the previous night. The training uniform is comfortable and even a little elegant for a pair of slacks, a black t-shirt and a grey hoodie, and he almost doesn't recognize himself when he sees his own reflection in the elevator mirror — he recognizes his dark brown eyes and the curls of his hair, but the bags underneath his eyes both scare and surprise him. He has always slept soundly, but he gathers he must not have slept any more than three or four hours tonight. He rubs his fingers against the eyebags as though the gesture might make them go away, then sighs when he realizes that there is nothing he can do about them. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes, unaware that the floor that the elevator has just stopped at isn't the Training Room just yet.

"Morning, Edoardo."

He cracks an eye open and smiles when he recognizes Marius's thick black curls and his discreet but nevertheless infectious smile. The boy steps inside the elevator and offers him a gentle wink before pressing a button, and then turns around to take a closer look at him.

"You haven't slept much tonight, have you?" Marius questions, not unkindly. There is an understanding edge to his words, and Eddie silently thanks him for that.

"Yup," Eddie shrugs, his pose as effortlessly cool as always. "You?"

"I slept just fine," Marius shrugs, imitating Eddie's gesture with an amused smile. "You know, for someone who's been sleep deprived since age thirteen."

Eddie's eyebrows rise in surprise. His parents have never really forced any sort of schedule or agenda on him and his sister Lucia, being left to his own devices for most of his teenage years, but they have always been home to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight, even well after he became old enough for them to try and amuse him with bedtime stories that might lull him to sleep. He doesn't know Marius that well just yet, but he remembers having heard on TV that his father was one of the Head Peacekeepers of their District and that his mother had passed away when he was just a boy, and it surprises him to think that his domestic life might have been very different to Eddie's sheltered lifestyle, always peaceful unless he purposely wrecked it by arriving late from a party or being discovered with a girl — or a boy — in his room.

"It's not a big deal, though," Marius clarifies, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It'll be useful once we get thrown into the Arena and well, start killing each other off in the most sadistic and vicious of ways."

Eddie can't help but cringe at the idea, but merely nods in a vague gesture. Marius is an exceptionally difficult person to read, he realizes, and he isn't sure if what he has interpreted as a friendly approach that might end up blossoming into a profitable alliance might just be Marius's way of being polite. And so Eddie, the golden boy who always knew the right thing to say at any given time, closes his mouth and curves his lips into a light, pensive pout.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've already made an alliance with someone else?" Marius prods, an amused expression on his face. When Eddie frowns, the boy continues, "Just in case you're wondering, I want to be nowhere near the Career pack. That Celeste kid is scary as Hell, and Mercia — well, she's downright unhinged, I think. Evander looks nice enough, and I feel like he's getting along with Dorcas — that's my District partner — but I don't think a tri-force alliance between us would work. They're like, fourteen, or whatever."

"Hm." Eddie's lips have turned into a light smile by now. "Florence and I wanted to be allies for as long as we can, but I suppose you can tag along if you want to."

Marius chuckles. "Tag along. That's cute, you know — like we're going camping or something."

"I don't know," Eddie shrugs defensively. Marius somehow manages to keep putting him off, but the playful banter that has settled between the two of them makes everything all the more amusing to Eddie. "So, _are _you willing to be our ally, Marius?"

The District Two boy taps his chin lightly, but ultimately offers Eddie a gentle smile and nods.

"Yeah, I think that could work," he says. When the elevator finally stops at the floor that contains the Training Center's immense gym, Marius winks at him again and tilts his head towards the door. "Let's train for a bit, shall we?"

Eddie grins as he follows Marius outisde the elevator. "I'm _so _beating your ass, you know."

He doesn't know how Florence might feel about Marius just yet, but he _definitely_ feels as though they have just landed themselves the best deal that he could have ever imagined.

* * *

**Florence Maugham — 11:30 AM**

Florence observes the room around her and considers her options. Eddie has practically become her ally by now, but she gathers they should find at least another person who could even out their lack of combat skills. She studies the Careers with an attentive look — the District One kids seem to have recruited the District Four and Two girls already, and Eddie told her earlier that morning that he might tag along to the District Two boy's training. The boy from Four looks a little dazed and confused by the brightness of it all, but she gathers he might still be an interesting ally. The boy from Five looks enthusiastic and sweet enough, but it doesn't look as though he might make it too far into the Games — he is only twelve, after all. His District partner seems downright unapproachable, and the kids from Six and Eight seem a little lost and unsure of what to do. The boy and girl from Nine are sitting together, tying knots and goofing around, and Florence can't help but frown at the lightheartedness of it all — she heard that they were a couple before the Games somewhere, but she had always imagined that getting reaped with your significant other would only makes things worse. Still, the idea of approaching them doesn't seem easy or all the more profitable — as a couple, they will probably just want to fend for themselves and close their alliance off to anyone else who might still be interested in joining them.

She observes the girl from Ten quietly. She has the looks of a fine Southern lady, Florence thinks, and she can't help but feel a little annoyed by how she just trots around the room with the boys from Six and Four already chasing her around. The boy from Eleven seems sweet enough, but also a little clumsy, whereas his District partner looks determined but unfamiliar with survival and combat skills. And both kids from Twelve look like they're downright insane, and so Florence gathers that it really is down to Eddie and her — and possibly the District Two boy, if he doesn't end up joining the Career pack.

"What's so fascinating about my District partner, Florence Maugham?"

Florence frowns and turns around. Of course — she had forgotten about the boy from Ten, who is now grinning at her with an amused look on his face. He first caught her attention while watching their Reaping during the train ride — the boy was over six feet tall and had fiery red hair and very light skin, matted with freckles and patches of a reddish blush on his cheeks, and Florence had unconsciously told herself that she had never seen someone quite as attractive as him. Not because he was particularly handsome in a conventional way, but rather because there was something undeniably fresh and trustworthy in the way he offered a girl who looked like his sister a sad smile before walking onstage. She might have had a crush on him if they had gone to school together or met under normal circumstances, she realizes, and she can't help but smile back at him in spite of it all.

"I was just considering my options," she replies truthfully. "Eddie and I will probably end up being allies, but we thought we should expand our group a little. You know, just in case the Career pack strikes. You're Fredrick, right?"

She already knows his name _is_ Fredrick, but she doesn't want to sound too interested in finding out just yet.

"That's a very reasonable thought," he reckons, nodding his head. "And yes, that's me. Fred Blake, male tribute for District Ten." He offers her his hand, and the girl shakes it with an amused smile. "May I ask whether you've made up your mind about your potential allies yet?"

"Honestly? I have no idea," Florence replies. "The Career pack is obviously out of question. The boy from Three might come in handy — he looks like one of those booksmart kids that might get us out of a rough situation, you know. Your District partner would be all right, I guess, but I think she's already formed an alliance with the boys from Six and Four."

"Ah, yes," Fred nods. "Em told me earlier today. We get along just fine, but I don't think an alliance between us would work — I think she doesn't feel as though I'm gullible enough."

Florence can't help but smirk at that. "Yeah, she definitely looks like the dominant type."

"She sort of is," Fred nods, but ultimately smiles. "Don't get me wrong, she's all right for a sixteen-year-old — it could have been a lot worse, considering how brattish most of the kids who hadn't taken tesserae in our District were."

Florence's eyebrows rise. She has always known that Ten is one of the poorest Districts, but Fred and Emmaline don't look like they have skipped a meal in their entire lives — she knows that Emmaline's family owns one of the largest ranches of their District, but she now realizes that she has no idea what Fred's family does for a living. She gathers they must have been at least middle class by the way their son looks this healthy and educated at age eighteen.

"I never took tesserae because my parents are both doctors and we've always been quite wealthy, at least by District Ten standards," Fred explains, almost as though he knows what Florence is thinking right now. "I have ample medical experience myself, because I began training as a doctor when I was fourteen, and I've been working with my father ever since I graduated from high school. I was hoping to open up a public clinic to help the poorer people in my District — but alas, here we are."

Florence feels surprised by how transparent the boy seems to be, but she immediately decides that she likes it. In fact, she likes _him_ as a person — she doesn't want to judge him too quickly, but he definitely looks like someone she might have genuinely gotten along with if she had met him back home. Besides, his medical skills could surely come in handy, combined with her own survival skills from having spent days on end living in the woods surrounding District Seven. She taps her chin thoughtfully for a second, then offers him her hand with a half-smile on her face.

"Would you be interested in joining our alliance, Fred Blake?"

The boy grins broadly and nods before shaking her hand. "I most definitely am, Florence Maugham."

Florence smiles, and she can't help but feel how her stomach churn at the sight of Fred Blake's sincere, transparent smile. She scratches her cheek, averting her eyes quietly, then motions towards the table where most of the camouflage paintings have been placed.

"So... d'you reckon those might be helpful?" She asks, her eyebrows rising.

Fred laughs. "Well, yeah, I suppose. My survival skills are well, pretty much non-existent, but I'm already familiar with knives from all the surgery I performed last year. I could slit someone's throat in their sleep if I wanted to." Florence eyes him with a shocked expression, and the boy quickly adds in a nervous tone, "I'm kidding! Well, not really — I mean, I _could_ slit someone's throat if I wanted to, but — God, sorry, that came out all wrong."

Florence smiles at the way his cheeks have turned a blotchy red, almost matching the boy's hair color. She somehow knows she can trust him, and she just laughs a little before dipping her fingers in the earth-colored paint pot.

"Don't worry, Blake," she tells him. She then touches her fingers to the boy's reddish cheeks and traces two very soft lines underneath his grey eyes. Fred looks a little taken aback at first, but ultimately laughs at her gesture. She dips her fingers into the pot again and traces more lines all over Fred's face, mixing different earth colors and tones until she has covered it in its entirety. Fred just stands there, a goofy smile on his face, eyeing her from time to time.

"Wow, you look _great_ with your face all covered in mud, Fred Blake," she notes, stifling a laugh. "I'm sure no one will notice you're there if you hide in the middle of the forest looking like this."

"Thanks, Maugham," he replies, snorting a little. He then dips his own fingers in the paint and traces a spiral around Florence's cheeks, which inadvertently makes them turn a soft pink. "You look pretty dashing yourself too, if you ask me."

She bites her lower lip discreetly, then shakes her head a little. "Shut up, Blake."

The boy bursts into laughter when she grabs a bunch of leaves and hides her face behind it. One of the Careers glares back at them and sharply tells them to shut up, which makes Florence gulp — but a single shared glance with Fred makes them both burst into a soft giggle again, with Florence feeling a lightness in her stomach that she can't quite associate with the possibility of dying within the next few weeks. But she feels as though Fred Blake might make it all just a tiny bit more bearable, and that's more than enough for her by now.

She doesn't know how Eddie might feel about Fred just yet, but she _definitely_ feels as though they have just landed themselves the best deal that she could have ever imagined.

* * *

**Sorry if that came out extra cheesy, I just really felt like writing some tropey romantic stuff! I love these kids! Anyway — the District Eight Training will be up next. Until then, please let me know how you felt about this chapter via review! I love reading your opinions and they really are super helpful most of the time, so yup. :)**

**-s.**


	11. District 8 - Training (II)

**District Eight**

**Training (II) — Five days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Dorian Galter — 8:30 AM**

Dorian's second day at the Capitol begins with a silent but nevertheless painful panic attack.

He awakes with a start, having dreamt again of how some of the most vicious-looking Careers might kill him in the Arena. The Games are just a week away, and he has only just realized that he lacks the skills to survive the first day in the Arena, let alone to win the Hunger Games. He is years younger than most of the other tributes — his District partner and the boy from Five are twelve, and there's a fellow fourteen-year-old roaming around with the Career pack, but that's about it. He knows that he doesn't stand a chance, and the realization of his own death prods him to the very core of his existence.

He closes his eyes and covers his face with his hands. He has only just realized that he cannot rely on his District partner for a potential alliance — Theodora might be younger and smaller than him, but she will definitely outlive him and won't help him out of a rough situation once they're thrown into the Arena. He knows that she despises him, being the privileged son of the managers of a textiles processing facility, and that she loathes the way things have simply been handed to him until now. Dorian thinks she's just being prejudiced and even a little bigoted towards him, but he does reckon that he has been able to lead a life of careless conformity that might come off as snobbish to those from a lower social environment like Theodora, who, as far as he is concerned, has roamed the slums of District Eight with her little brother for the past few years. Still, he doesn't understand the girl's hostile attitude towards him, and the way she just keeps scowling whenever he opens his mouth in front of their mentors.

Dorian lets out a loud sigh as he slips out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He has always been a quiet boy, and the first and foremost thing that his parents taught him as a child was that he would be treated fairly if he played by the Capitol's rules. He has always stayed in line, never engaging in what he might have considered rebellious or even heretic conversation with other boys at school when they insisted on complaining about the Reapings and the unfairness of the Games, and he has always felt mortified by the possibility of being reprimanded by his District's Peacekeepers. He has taught himself pretty much everything about the Hunger Games, just in case the unthinkable happened — and it _has_ happened after all, he glumly tells himself, thinking of how his friend Haresh, who had lost cousin to the Games a few years ago, had held his arm tightly next to him when Dorian's name came out of their escort's mouth, visibly horrified by his best friend's reaping. He now feels embarrassed by the way he had simply burst into tears in the middle of their town square, with some of the lower-class boys who weren't eligible for Reaping because they had been taking tesserae for years even snickering at him as he walked onstage. But they couldn't understand — people like Theodora, who had grown up in the streets or in the slum-like tin houses in the outskirts of their District, would never feel half as betrayed as Dorian did when he walked onstage and shook the escort's hand. He has always played by the rules, after all, and he has always thought that would be enough to keep him safe. But he now realizes that it never was, and that his parents' dutiful obedience to the Capitol is to be rewarded with the slaughter of their only child at the ripe age of fourteen.

He just feels like huddling under his blankets and crying all day, but Dorian rubs the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes yet again and stands up, determined to overcome his woes and fears and make the most of what little time he has left.

He vaguely greets his mentors with a wave of his hand, and they acknowledge his presence in the living room with a fairly similar gesture. Dorian has never seen their male escort without his hip flask in his hand, and their female mentor — well, she is kind enough, but also sort of distraught, which usually makes Dorian feel even more worried about the Games. He knows that there hasn't been a District Eight Victor for nearly three decades now, and he quietly wonders whether they might have given up on offering the children that they mentor some sort of counseling or guidance altogether. He takes a seat on one of the kitchen puffs after fixing himself some toast with butter and jam, and pensively observes the two of them as he takes gentle bites from it.

"Y'know, staring is an awfully rude thing to do."

He immediately recoils upon recognizing Theodora's voice. The girl has strutted down the stairs in the utmost silence and made it to his side without him noticing, which invariably sends a shiver running down his spine. She just offers him a mischievous smile before grabbing an apple from the counter and taking a big, round bite from it, showing him the hole in the otherwise perfect apple in a somewhat threatening gesture. Dorian looks away, wondering for the umpteenth time what the girl has against him, but then realizes that he will probably never find out. She might have come off as a little mouse at first, he thinks, but she has the personality of a bald eagle.

"Good morning to you too, Theodora," he replies, not unkindly. He might not like her very much, but he knows how to keep his manners afloat.

The girl just glares at him before taking another bite off the apple. "Don't call me Theodora, for fuck's sake."

"Hey, it's too early for cursing," their mentor reprimands her, which makes Dorian snicker quietly. "Aren't you, like, nine?"

"I'm twelve." Theodora's cheeks have turned a bright red, visibly annoyed by their mentor's antics. She then glares at Dorian again before adding, "Just leave me alone, all right?"

Dorian's hands rise defensively. "I didn't do anything."

"Will you two just _shut up _already?" Their other mentor mumbles, rubbing his forehead before taking another sip from his hip flask. "I can't believe I'm still doing this shit."

"You _have_ to do it, because our District sucks at winning and yet you somehow did." Theodora mumbles as she fixes herself some cereal. Dorian wonders whether she is used to eating such amounts of food, being so small and everything, but decides that it isn't his place to judge her dietary choices. He just finishes his toast and stands up again, taking a sip from a freshly pressed pineapple juice bottle before waving his mentors goodbye again.

"I'm off to the Training Center," he announces, in a slightly awkward tone. "I'll, er, see you all for dinner."

The three of them vaguely wave their hands at him, then return to whatever they were doing before that. Dorian sighs and lowers his head before pushing the elevator button, telling himself that it really isn't his fault, and also secretly hoping that the Careers are not up and about yet. He doesn't want to wear himself out too much before the Games begin, but he also knows that he should learn at least a thing or two if he wants to live past the Bloodbath.

The elevator doors shut before him, and Dorian can't help but feel a light-headed sense of relief when he realizes that he has been left to his own devices yet again.

* * *

**Tee Reynolds — 3:20 PM**

Tee doesn't like Dorian. In fact, she believes she _hates _him — she knows she shouldn't be assuming and that he might even be a somewhat decent kid in spite of his privileged upbringing, but she hates where he comes from and the sputtering wealth that his parents' business has provided to him while his very neighbors starved to death. She does not trust him, and she definitely does not think he would make a decent ally — he is awkward and clumsy and his thoughts on the Capitol and the Games are all over the place for some reason, almost as though he _admires_ them to a certain degree. For God's sake, the boy's first reaction during their train ride was to question their mentors and sputter _funfacts_ all about their own Games — he is some sort of Hunger Games nerd, Tee has gathered over the past few days, and she absolutely _loathes_ the idea of trusting someone who has blindly followed the Capitol's sadistic ways like that for most of his life.

But then again, she isn't sure what to do. She knows it's stupid to go into the Games without an alliance, especially when most of the tributes seem to have somehow sorted themselves into three or four very distinct groups. There's the Career pack, obviously, and then there's the District Ten cowgirl and the two boys who keep drooling over her. The tributes from Seven seem somewhat interesting, but they seem to have formed a very close alliance with the boys from Two and Ten — the four of them have been training together all morning, and they even shared a loud, lively conversation in the dining hall during lunch, making the Careers roll their eyes and mumble names at them. But they're way older than she is and she doesn't know whether she would fit in with them, so she decides that they simply aren't worth her time. The couple from Nine make her feel like puking half of the time, with them holding hands and just making puppy eyes at each other while doing all sorts of cutesy, couple-like things; the boy from Eleven, in spite of looking like he comes from a much humbler environment, is still a bit childish and overall useless as an ally, and the kids from Three seem too delicate to make noteworthy allies, too — especially the girl, who burst into tears earlier that day because she broke a fingernail after lifting an axe. She distinctly remembers the way the girl from Five had snickered at that, and silently wonders whether she would be interested in forming an alliance — there isn't much to choose from anyway, and the girl does remind Tee of herself.

That is precisely why she taps the girl's shoulder right after the training resumes.

Arya turns around with a questioning expression on her face. She is only a couple of inches taller than Tee, who is already quite short for her age, and they both share the same wiry, bony complexion, with identical dark brown hair and eyes. Arya's skin is more tanned than Tee's, which has remained a very pale tone in spite of the days she has spent living in the streets, and she can't help but smile when she sees that her body is covered in scars and bruises like hers. Tee has always thought that she would never find a kindred spirit among the privileged kids who have gotten reaped for this year's Hunger Games, but Arya seems about to prove her otherwise.

"What the...?" The girl initially barks, but her expression seems to relax when she recognizes Tee's face. "Oh. Whaddya want, Eight?"

Tee shrugs. "I was jus' wonderin' if you're open to an alliance."

Arya snorts, shaking her head a little. "With a twelve-year-old? I don't think so."

Tee frowns, but doesn't feel taken aback by the other girl's comment. After all, she _does_ know that she looks a little scrawny and definitely undernourished, and that people would be stupid to see her as a trustworthy ally after her Reaping — she had just stormed onstage and called every single one of her District's citizens names before being dragged to the Justice Building by a bunch of Peacekeepers — but she also happens to be exceptionally hot-headed, so she just shrugs again and glares defiantly at the girl in front of her.

"I'm good at throwing knives," she explains simply. "I've lived in the streets for the past three years after my parents died, and I've taken care of my little brother Lex while at it. I didn't take tesserae because I didn't want to give the Capitol the satisfaction of _helping _me, and I really can't wait to stab all those privileged rich kids in the eye when the right time comes." She doesn't necessarily mean that last part, knowing that she would never be capable of hurting someone else unless they were about to hurt her too, but she gathers it might come off as impressive. "I'm fast, and I can fend for myself. I don't need to eat every day, and I can go without water for at least a day or two, too. There's only one red line, though — I _don't _want you to tell me what to do. I don't care if you think you're smarter or braver or more experienced because you're older than me, but I don't need your advice and I most definitely won't follow any orders. If that's all right with you, then I think we would make a great alliance." She extends her hand, almost exhaling after her little speech, and offers Arya a more inquisitive look this time.

The District Five girl frowns, but ultimately shakes her hand.

"Why me, though?" She questions. "Don't you have your District partner or something like that?"

"He's a brat," Tee shrugs as she shakes Arya's hand. "I don't think he'll make it that far. And if he does — well, I don't want to rely on someone like him. We're surrounded by rich kids and pretentious assholes, and I just thought you were one of the few trustworthy tributes who hadn't been recruited for an alliance just yet."

Arya nods. "I guess you're right. My District partner's a bit of a pain in the ass, too — he's your age, but he acts like he's, I don't know, eight. I hate how everyone just seems to love him — look at him and the boy from Three, for God's sake. They've known each other for like two days and they're already acting like he's his goddamn little brother or somethin' like that!"

Tee glances at the two boys, who are currently fighting each other with boxing gloves. The boy from Three is almost a foot taller than Arya's District partner, but the boy keeps aiming punches at him, with Milo just laughing and nodding in an encouraging manner. She grimaces, detesting the idea of people acting _friendly_ during such a dark time, and immediately turns back to Arya.

"Who cares," she finally shrugs before picking up a set of knives in front of her. "We'll probably outlive them anyway, so. Wanna train for a bit?"

Arya's lips twitch into something that vaguely resembles a smile, which makes Tee feel somewhat pleased. The girl nods before taking a knife herself and aiming it at one of the dummies, whooping when it gets stabbed right through the heart. One of the Careers — the girl from Four, Tee believes — snorts something about the poor kids suddenly feeling entitled to throwing knives and people, and Tee sharply snaps back by yelling at them to piss off. She knows that the girl would have normally engaged in a verbal or even physical fight but, seeing the look that the Peacekeeper at the door gives her, she just shows Tee her middle finger and storms off to wherever her group is training right now. Tee snickers, and her smile turns into a grin when Arya pats her shoulder approvingly.

"You know, I had always thought I'd end up going solo," Arya admits. "But I think you're going to make a fairly decent ally, Theodora."

Tee immediately scowls, shaking her head. "_Don't_ call me Theodora. I'm Tee."

Arya almost looks surprised by her ally's tone, but does a crooked smile anyway. "All right. Tee it is, then."

Tee does a half-smile and nods approvingly. She doesn't know whether their alliance will work out just yet, but she _definitely_ knows that it's better than going into the Games on her own. And so she grabs another knife, briefly glancing back at the Careers, and aims at the dummy in front of her yet again. It stabs right through the place where its heart would normally be, and Tee can't help but grin at the way everyone just goes silent and observes her. She wants to come off as scary, to let them know that she is wise and strong beyond her years and that she is ready to fight them all. Arya, behind her, snickers approvingly. They will never be friends — not exactly — but they already like each other quite a bit, which is more than enough for Tee right now.

She offers the Careers a sardonic smile before retrieving her knife, and even bows a little when the girl from Four scowls at her again.

* * *

**So that's a short chapter. Eh. I don't really know? I'm not exactly proud of how it came out, but at least we're one chapter closer to the Games! Hehe. The third and last Training day should be up sometime soon. Anyway, I hope you still enjoyed it in spite of its short length! Please let me know what you thought of it via review. :)**


	12. District 9 - Training (III)

**District Nine  
**

**Training (III) — Four days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Ted Berninger — 2:30 AM**

Ted hasn't had a proper night's sleep since the day before the Reapings, but having Agnes by his side has made it all just a little bit more bearable.

He holds her tight against his chest, burying his nose in her curly black hair. He closes his eyes behind his round glasses and thinks of easier times, like their first date back when they were sixteen and the way he had felt butterflies in his stomach when she had first kissed him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes even a little gleamy, and how he had just grinned before kissing her back, wide-eyed and amazed by the way the girl's lips against his had made him feel. He remembers telling his parents that he had a girlfriend, and bringing her home for dinner for the first time — his sisters had loved her from the very beginning, and by the time his father announced that dessert was ready they were all quite smitten with her. He even smiles fondly at the memory of the way his mother had let them sleep together that night, knowing that she could trust her eldest son and that he was not a kid anymore. He had only been seventeen back then, but he had already felt like an adult when he first held Agnes in his arms, dozing off to sleep with his chin resting on top of his girlfriend's head.

He is eighteen now, and he can hardly think of himself as anything other than a very scared child who has somehow wound up in the toughest situation one could imagine.

Agnes nuzzles against his chest and yawns quietly, making him lose his train of thought.

"We need to get some sleep, Ted."

He nods against the top of her head, smiling at the way she just _knows_ whether he is asleep or not. "I know. I've just have a hard time sleeping ever since, well, you know."

One of Anne's bright blue eyes cracks open, and she offers her boyfriend a sad smile. "I do know. But we've talked about this, all right? We'll try our best."

Ted nods, but also gulps quietly. Quite frankly, the idea of winning mortifies him — because that would mean losing Agnes to the Games. He wants her to win, to live a fulfilling life even if it's without him — he might have been foolish enough to think that they could grow old together and have a bunch of kids like his parents did, and build a loving, sun-drenched house for all of them to live in. But he now realizes that he has just been an exceptionally foolish child who dreamt of spending the rest of his life with the girl he loves, and that he will have to give up his very own existence in order to make sure she lives through the Games.

The idea of dying also mortifies him, of course. But it is the idea of a life without Agnes that makes it all completely and utterly unbearable.

"I love you," he whispers into her ear, holding her closer. "Please remember that, all right?"

He feels Agnes's smile against his shoulder, and even shivers a little when she presses a kiss to his neck.

"I love you too," she mumbles, wrapping her arms around him. She is much shorter than him, and he can't help but smile at the way her toes curl against his thighs. "_You_ need to remember that too, you know."

"I'm well aware of it," he whispers, touching his hand to her cheek and rubbing it like he did back when they had first kissed, right by the wheat field that Ted's parents had owned and cared for over the past twenty years or so.

"Then please assume that I want to get you home safely as much as you want me to do the same thing, please," she mutters. Her voice is low and calm, but he knows that an earthquake must be running inside of her — he is extremely vocal about everything, but Agnes has a tendency to keeping things to herself until the very last second. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Ted. We've talked about this — we'll try our best, then... figure it out when the right time comes."

Ted frowns, taken aback by her words. Granted, they have talked about it — but they have never directly addressed the possibility of having to choose who lives and who dies. He has always gathered that he would protect her for as long as he could, not because she needs him to but because he genuinely _wants_ to help her for as long as he can, then go peacefully when his time comes. It is a grim thought, he knows that much, but he also happens to know that he would never lead a happy life if he survived the Games and Agnes didn't.

He sighs against the pillow, closing his eyes when he realizes that his girlfriend is watching him attentively.

"What do you want me to say?" Ted questions finally. "I'm not going to let _you_ die so that I can live, Agnes. I'd never be able to live with that. Hell, I don't think I even _want_ to live with that."

"You think _I_ want to live my life without you, Ted?" She snaps. Her tone is quiet, but Ted can detect the glint of silent tears in her eyes. "We're in this shithole together, and it sucks, and I wish you hadn't been reaped so that I could at least try and make it out of here alive with a clear conscience. But we're here, and we have to make sure at least one of us goes home and gets to live a fulfilling life, do you understand that?"

And Ted knows that he understands, but he feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes when Agnes bursts into the quietest of sobs, burying her face in his chest. He holds her close, pressing soft kisses to her hair and whispering comforting words about their District and their family and friends and the wheat fields where they had both spent most of their childhood together before they even realized they had feelings for each other, telling her that he loves her again and again.

"I just don't know what we're gonna do," Agnes murmurs finally, looking up at him. "There's got to be a way we can make it back. It's just so _unfair_."

"I know," Ted whispers, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. He then presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, breathing her in again before adding, "Like you said, we'll figure it out."

Agnes nods quietly, and slowly closes her eyes as she rests her head on Ted's shoulder. The boy simply lulls her to sleep, caressing her hair quietly, and even smiles sadly when he realizes that she is fast asleep. He wonders how many times he will get to see her sleepy, almost child-like face against the moonlit gleam that gently shines over them, before either of them gets killed. He gulps, closing his eyes, and holds her closer before taking his glasses off and resting his head on the pillow again.

He dozes off slowly, but also steadily, knowing that they still have a few days left until the Hunger Games rip them apart forever.

* * *

**Agnes Colman — 8:30 AM**

Ted is fast asleep when Agnes wakes up around eight thirty in the morning, so she simply presses a kiss to his forehead and lets him sleep for a bit longer before slipping out of bed to get some breakfast. Their mentors are nowhere to be seen, so she eats her cereal and pancakes in a rueful silence before changing into her training uniform and taking the elevator down to the gym, where a few tributes are already training — the boy from Ten and the girl from Seven are practicing some fencing, whereas the boys from Four and Six are throwing knives at a dummy in a competitive but nevertheless friendly way. She discreetly slips into the room and takes a bow and arrow from the table before finding a dummy for herself — she has only recently found out that she has a knack for archery, and she feels like she should try and improve her skills while she can. She is even considering the possibility of trying to get one from the Cornucopia before running away with Ted — not that she would ever tell him, of course, because Ted is pretty much the biggest worrywart that she has ever known and he would definitely panic if she told him she wanted to risk her life for a bow and a set of arrows.

She even does a half-smile when her arrow rips right through the dummy's chest, but gulps when someone starts clapping behind her.

"Not bad for a District Nine girl," Celeste admits, a mischievous smile on her face. Agnes gulps, awkwardly pulling the bow close to her chest — which apparently comes off as a hilarious gesture to the District One girl, because she immediately bursts into laughter after that. "What, do you think I'm going to hurt you? Don't worry, I'm not ruining my chances at the Games for some five-foot-something kid."

"I'm eighteen," Agnes protests hoarsely. She has always been shorter than most girls her age, but Ted has always claimed that it only makes her more of threat when people discover the amount of anger and hot-headedness that her small body can contain. "And I don't need your compliments, thank you very much."

"Where's your boyfriend, anyway?" Celeste replies, ignoring Agnes's words. She looks around, almost as though trying to find him, and then chuckles. "Anyway, who cares. You two might think you're all cute and lovely like those guys from District Twelve a few years ago, but let me give you a heads up — the Capitol doesn't buy that shit anymore. They don't care for lovesick puppies and star-crossed lovers, you know — they want guts and vice and violence and everything in between. So if I were you, I'd cover my back by finding a larger alliance rather than simply sticking to your four-eyed boyfriend."

"Leave him alone," Agnes snaps in a sharper tone. She doesn't mind being insulted by some District One brat, but she will _never_ let them stomp over Ted. "We're all right on our own, so just go find your friends and boss them around for a bit, will you?"

"Nah, I'm good," Celeste says. When she tries to place a hand on Agnes's shoulder, the girl immediately backs away, which makes Celeste laugh again. "The little bitch's got a bit of a temper! That's amusing. And I've got to admit that your archery skills are decent enough."

"What do you even _want _from me?" Agnes snorts. She is feeling beyond annoyed at this point. "Do you intend to mock me or laugh at us or whatever? Because I don't care for your bullshit _at all_, Celeste."

"I want to offer you an alliance," the girl snaps. She smiles at the startle that settles on Agnes's face. "We're a little short on people in the Career pack, as you may have noticed, and we decided yesterday that we would ask you or the boy from Twelve to join us. I honestly would rather have someone who isn't fucking mental in my team, but it really is up to you. Evander and Dorcas liked you for some reason, so."

Agnes gulps. She and Ted have spent the last week roasting the Careers and their annoying ways, regarding them as a mere bunch of annoying brats, but she immediately reasons that joining their alliance _might_ keep them both safe for just a little longer. They could leave whenever they felt like it, and they could just take whatever they needed with them, and they would have their backs covered for the first few days. And, of course, she would be free to wield a bow and arrow without risking her safety by making a run for it during the Bloodbath, since the Careers would be there to back her up — for as long as the alliance lasted, anyway.

"Would Ted be allowed to join in, too?" She finally asks, a defiant tone to her words — as though implying that she will not submit to the girl's will even if they do end up joining the Career pack.

"What? The kid's totally useless," Celeste smirks, shaking her head. "He can't fight for the life of him, and I don't think he's even great at anything other than making eyes at you. No, we just want _you_."

Agnes frowns, then immediately shakes her head. "I'm not interested, then. We're a package deal."

"I can see that," Celeste snorts, but ultimately clicks her tongue before tying her hair up in a ponytail. "That's a shame, though. You would've come in handy for the first few days — now we're just going to have to kill you in the Bloodbath, I guess." She nonchalantly winks an eye at Agnes before waving her hand in a girlish manner and adding, in an exaggeratedly high pitch, "See you around then, babygirl!"

Agnes's face has gone as white as a sheet by the time Celeste has joined her group again, and she has to lower her gaze when the five of them glance back at her. The younger kids seem genuinely upset, but the girl from Four just smirks and whispers something into Celeste's ear that makes the girl burst into hysterical laughter. Agnes realizes that the two of them must _loathe_ each other, but that they both need to come off as the best of friends in front of the Capitol and their potential sponsors — which only makes her feel more irked by the way she has briefly considered joining their alliance. She closes her eyes, then breathes in slowly before reaching for an arrow again.

She spots Ted coming out of the elevator by the time she's about to aim at the dummy again, and lowers her bow to greet him before she realizes he is not alone.

"Hey, Agnes," Ted greets her, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before motioning towards the taller boy who is standing next to him. "This is Milo. We've had breakfast together because I couldn't find any food back in our lodgings."

"Hey," the boy smiles awkwardly at her before offering his hand in a friendly gesture. Agnes remembers having felt a tender sympathy when she found out that he has a girlfriend back home, and so she shakes his hand with the nicest smile she can muster after her brief conversation with Celeste.

"Nice to meet you, Milo," she says, before glancing back at Ted. The boy shrugs with a relaxed expression that Agnes hasn't seen on his face since they got reaped, and tucks a single strand of hair behind her own ear before adding, "I — I saw that they interviewed your girlfriend a little after you left. That was really shitty of them, honestly."

Milo's smile twitches into a sad gesture when she remembers the interview that his mentor had shown him earlier that week and nods.

"It was awful," he agrees, but ultimately shrugs his shoulders in a discreet gesture. He must have learned to deal with his own emotions for the past week, Agnes reckons, and she can't help but admire the way he seems to handle things. The three of them are eighteen years old, but Milo almost seems older than the two of them — perhaps because he's tall and has less of a baby face, or perhaps because there's something about him that confers him an almost academic-like aura, whether it be his horn-rimmed glasses or the way he always wore checkered shirts with white t-shirts underneath. He reminds her of one of those beatnik poets that lived centuries ago and that her brother has always admired, and she immediately decides that she likes the boy. Ted seems to genuinely like him, too, because he is patting Milo's back with a friendly smile on his face.

"I just thought the three of us could train together for a bit, see how it goes and everything," her boyfriend explains, offering her one of those smiles that had made her fall in love with him. "You can stick to your bow and arrow, though. Milo and I will find something useful to do."

"I could show you how to build a spit!" Milo offers. "It might come in handy if we're in a natural environment."

Ted seems enthusiastic at the prospect, and Agnes smiles at the way his face has lightened up in comparison to the way he had hopelessly looked at her the previous night.

She presses a kiss to his cheek and says, "Sure thing. Make the most out of it, all right?" She then looks at Milo and offers him the most sincere smile that has crossed her face ever since they arrived at the Capitol. "I think we could work together for a bit, yes."

Milo seems pleased by the girl's acceptance, and he and Ted immediately walk off to find the table where most of the survival packages can be found, leaving Agnes to herself once again. She does a small smile, pleased at the way everything has turned out, and foolishly considers the possibility of having Ted survive the Games after all. The three of them might make it work — Milo seems exceptionally smart, whereas Ted has a fairly decent shot at surviving physically to the lack of water and food, and she's stealthy and surprisingly good at using a bow and arrow. They might make a good team, and they might even get to defeat the Careers if they play their cards right.

The arrow rips through the dummy's heart yet again, and Agnes's face breaks into a wholehearted grin for the first time since her reaping.

* * *

**So that's that! I hope this wasn't excessively cheesy — I wanted to write them right as a couple, and I hope to have made them justice. Anyhoo! See you all real soon for the District Ten Gamemakers Sessions and scores. Until then, please do let me know what you thought of this one via review! I'm feeling a little disheartened because I feel as though most people have given up on this story already and it sucks because I'm really invested in it and well, it'd be lovely to know you lot are still reading & enjoying it somehow. I also hope you're all safe and healthy and that the quarantine isn't treating you too badly if that's the case in your country (mine has been in a nearly total lockdown since Friday and I don't know when I'll be able to go to uni again and it's all been a little weird as of lately, but oh well). Anyway — please stay safe and wash your hands as often as you can!**

**-s.**


	13. District 10 - Gamemakers Sessions

**District Ten**

**Gamemakers Session — Three days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Emmaline MacArthur — 3:00 PM**

Drew, to her right, gives her hand a squeeze and offers her a smile. Kai, to her left, nudges her shoulder and tells her she is going to ace her examination. Anouk, in front of them, just eyes them cautiously and mutters something about going off to get something to eat.

Emmaline smiles to herself, silently pleased by the way things are turning out. She has never intended to manipulate the two boys sitting next to her into developing feelings for her but, as it turns out, their sudden infatuation has proven to be drastically beneficial for her. Drew and Kai practically levitate whenever she is around and, even though she kindly admitted Anouk into their alliance, she knows that the girl from Six will probably scoundrel off on her own as soon as the Games begin. She offers the two of them identical dimpled, honest smiles when their turn comes, and she even feels a little upset when Drew comes out of the room and grins at her before saying that he'd better go find Anouk and see what she's up to, in case their mentors want to give them a pep talk before the scores are released. Emmaline nods and smiles at him as always, but awkwardly glances around when she realizes that all her acquaintances are now gone. There's the two awkward kids from Eight, who are intendedly avoiding each other's gaze, and the smitten kittens from Nine, as Drew had called them once (not in a necessarily unkind way). There's Fred, of course, but he is too caught up in his conversation with the two kids from Seven, the girl's eyes perpetually on his, the boy laughing and nodding in agreement to whatever he is saying. She resents him to a certain degree for not having joined her alliance — she thinks she has always been perfectly polite to him, and that the boy should have been more considerate before joining the kids from Seven instead of his own District partner. Sponsors will not like that, she tells herself, and even smiles a little at the prospect of showing him how mistaken he is for not having considered her as a potential ally.

She leans back on her chair and thinks of her family and friends back home. She wonders what her father might think of her once the Games begin — he will surely want her home, but he might worry about all the vicious killing and fighting lowering Jasper's interest in her. She bolts up at the thought of Jasper — the boy has hardly crossed her mind over the past few days, unlike her closest friends Jocelyn and Nolan and her brother Jackson. Her parents have always intended for her to marry him as soon as she graduated from high school and, while he is nice enough to Emmaline and treats her the way a gentleman would treat his lady, Emmaline hardly thinks a marriage between them would last — she is too feisty, and he is too fond of his pompous _soirées_ and the way everything is simply handed to him for them to work as a functional, long-term couple. She thinks of Nolan, handsome and charming and outrageously funny, and how she has pretty much always had feelings for him in spite of knowing that her father would never approve of her having a relationship with one of his ranch workers. She still smiles at the memory of him kissing her discreetly on the lips before her parents entered the Justice Building, a mischievous, almost child-like smile on his face, and she remembers the way Jocelyn's eyes had widened in surprise and how Jackson had even hooted a little at the sight of their mutual friend kissing his baby sister; because, in spite of the glumness of it all, the boy had always secretly approved of the way Nolan and Emmaline harbored feelings for each other.

She finds herself missing all three of them deeply, almost to the point of feeling an ache in her chest, and she is so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't even realize that the kids from Seven, Eight and Nine are already gone and that Fred has just come out of the Gamemakers' room, touching his hand to her shoulder to tell her it's her turn.

"Good luck," he whispers, offering her a sympathetic smile. She has no idea how his exam has gone, but she instinctively smiles back at him.

"I'll see you later," she says. Fred nods and disappears through the door, and the kids from Eleven share a nervous glance in front of her. She smiles at them, and then leaps off her seat and walks towards the Gamemakers' room, a confident gesture on her face and a light strut gracing her feet as she struts towards the door.

The Gamemakers are all comfortably seated in their couches, eating pulled pork and drinking wine while casually sharing several simultaneous conversations. They remind her of her family's acquaintances and their glamorous dinner parties where there was always enough food to feed half of their District — she has never been exactly fond of their upper-class mannerisms and quirks, but she has always dutifully obliged to whatever her parents told her to do, and so she offers them the brightest of smiles and even does a little bow before walking up to the table where the weapons have been placed. A dummy rests on the floor, with different cuts and swollen bits — she gathers Fred must have used his own medical skills to show the Gamemakers how he might kill other tributes, and she distractedly places a belt of knives around her hip and grabs a ten-feet rope, swiftly tying a complex knot in order to turn it into a lasso. She then aims at a dummy and quickly captures it, pulling it closer and pulling out a couple of knives to repeatedly stab it as fast as possible. She then flips it around and straps it down to the floor, tying the dummy's wrists to the floor, and straddles it and pretends to asphyxiate it with the very same rope. It all happens within a few seconds and, once she's done, she stands up again and offers the seemingly interested Gamemakers a charismatic smile before bowing again. They seem to like her, she notes, with one of them even whistling a little in approval, and she graciously waves them goodbye before leaving the room, a little triumphant smile on her face.

The boy from Eleven eyes her nervously, not quite believing how quick Emmaline's session has been. She offers him a comforting smile and tilts her head towards the door, as though inviting him to go inside. The boy nods anxiously and squirrels inside, his District partner sighing quietly. The girl is a couple years older than Emmaline, but she has heard that she has a husband and a child back in District Eleven — the sole idea of being a mother and a wife _before_ turning eighteen completely mortifies Emmaline, but she has learned that it is somewhat of a tradition for most people in Eleven to marry as soon as they come of age. She offers the girl an encouraging smile and then quietly makes her way towards the elevator, thinking of the packet of cookies that she hid underneath the sofa and that she will most definitely eat as soon as she gets to the District Ten lodgings.

She has done her best, after all, and she is more than ready to reap the crops of her hard work.

* * *

**Fred Blake — 10:00 PM**

Fred has to cover his mouth with his hand when the first scores come out, and he even grimaces a little in advance of what may come. Emmaline is sitting next to him, a fizzy drink in her hand, and their mentors have taken a seat on the couches to both sides of the television.

The kids from One have done fairly well — the boy has earned himself a nine, whereas the girl has ended up scoring a ten. The boy from Two has gotten a nine, too, and the girl a seven — it isn't that great a score, Fred gathers, but she has the Career pack to cover her back if she needs them to. The boy from Three scratches a six, but his District partner gets a two — Emmaline even gapes as the number, because it really is quite strange for someone to get such a low score after a solid week of training. Even the clumsiest tributes manage to scrape a four or a five by tying knots or identifying poisonous berries, but the girl from Three _did _seem a little helpless all throughout their training.

"Poor thing," his mentor mumbles next to him, clicking his tongue.

He feels a little surprised by the District Four scores — the boy gets a nine, which is surprising considering that he never 'made' it into the Career pack, and the girl gets a shocking eleven. Both kids from Five get a five, which makes Emmaline snort — but her expression sobers up as soon as Drew's face appears onscreen, only to let out a relieved sigh when he scores an eight. She grimaces when she sees that his District partner, who is supposed to be in their alliance too, gets a four — Fred has never talked to her before, but he has pitied her ever since Emmaline told her about her budding alliance with the boys from Four and Six, and possibly the girl from Six. He likes Emmaline well enough, but he also happens to know that she has a semi-pathological need of being in the spotlight, and that she can and will push anyone who might try to outshine her aside.

He focuses on the television again when Eddie's face comes onscreen. He has only known him for a little over a week, but he already feels a very strong connection to the boy — he is exceptionally good-natured and also genuinely kind, and Fred enjoys the idea of being in an alliance with someone as decent as him. He clicks his tongue when he sees that he has only managed to scratch a five, but immediately gulps when Florence's face comes onscreen, his stomach churning involuntarily. He wouldn't be able to describe the way he feels about her if someone asked him — and Emmaline _had_ asked him, with playful jabs and only slightly annoying remarks over dinner, but he had simply shrugged the question off and scratched his cheeks when his District partner pointed out that he was _blushing_. He has never met someone like her — she's incredibly smart, self-sufficient, and an extremely caring person, but also goal-oriented and very determined. She has fought hard for herself and her family all her life, and Fred admires the way she has never had to rely on tesserae in spite of having been through a couple rough patches over the past few years. He has learned a lot about Florence Maugham and her life before the Quarter Quell, and it infuriates him to think that he may not get to spend much more time with her; the paradox of it all is, however, that he would have never gotten to meet her in the first place if it hadn't been for the Games.

He rubs his temples nervously, trying to focus on the television and not on the bright-eyed girl that he has somehow fallen hard and fast for, and even lets out a triumphant laugh when she scores an eight.

"Congrats, Fred," Emmaline chuckles, offering him a half-smile. "Your girlfriend must have aced it."

Fred feels his cheek flush ever so lightly, but shrugs nonchalantly before taking a seat next to her again. He cringes when he sees that the boy from Eight has gotten a three and the girl a four; the boy from Nine has hardly managed to scratch a five, but his girlfriend has surprisingly earned herself a very decent eight. He gulps in anticipation of his own score, and smiles with relief when he sees that he has gotten a seven — which is much more than he had imagined at first.

"A seven!" His mentor says, clapping his back merrily. "We can work with that, kid. Well done!"

"Thanks," he mutters, a little incredulously. He then beams at Emmaline when he sees that she has gotten an eight. He high-fives her, feeling relieved for the briefest of seconds, and chuckles a little when the girl hugs him in return. She immediately backs away, though, and the two of them turn around to see what has happened while they were celebrating their scores — both tributes from Eleven got a six, and the boy from Twelve got a five. They barely process the District Twelve girl's score — a seven — before the Panem coat of arms and the national anthem roll in again, and he turns around to hug his mentor in celebration of their scores.

"Well done, kids," he says earnestly, almost proudly. "You've earned yourselves some rest."

Emmaline nods and stretches her arms before yawning, as though indicating that she really feels like going to bed. Fred nods and smiles at her, then looks back at his mentor and asks, "Is it all right if I go upstairs for a bit?"

"Sure," his mentor replies, an only slightly skeptical expression on his face. "But make sure you're back here by eleven or so, all right?"

"Will do," Fred beams at his mentors and Emmaline one last time, then bolts towards the elevator. He quickly pushes the rooftop button and patiently waits for it to get there. He involuntarily smiles when the fresh spring breeze hits his face, and he closes his eyes for a second before breathing it all in.

His expression, however, breaks into a grin when he hears a voice that has become very familiar to him over the course of the previous week coming from the roof, exactly where they have regularly met for their nightly conversations for the past five or six nights.

"If it isn't the boy who just scored a seven in his session!" Florence laughs, smiling brightly at him.

Fred feels the same churn in his stomach than before, and he grins at Florence before taking a seat next to her.

"Says the girl who scored an eight!" He counters merrily, running a hand through his reddish hair as he observes the landscape in front of them. He can barely tell that there's a force camp surrounding them, which would prevent anyone from falling down to the Capitol streets should a tribute feel certain suicidal tendencies, so he merely stretches onto his back and offers the girl a smile before adding, "I'm so proud of you."

Florence's cheeks turn a bright red, but the girl just looks away, her eyes flicking towards the starry sky above them. It is nowhere near as bright as the skies in District Ten, Fred thinks to himself, and instead decides to focus on her. She's wearing her training slacks and t-shirt, with her blond hair tied up in a bun, and her cheeks are a little flushed from the exhaustion of having completed her Gamemakers session earlier that day. She's perfect, he thinks to himself, and feels a lump in his throat when he finds himself wishing he could just stare at Florence Maugham's discreetly reddish cheeks and round face for the rest of his life.

"Aren't you scared?" She asks finally, still avoiding his eyes. "It's annoying that you never look scared."

He frowns, and blinks a couple of times before heaving his upper half up with his elbows. "I _am_ scared. I'm just trying to make the most out of what little time we have left." He notices that the girl cringes at the way he just said _we_, and he places an understanding hand on her shoulder. "Hey, I didn't mean that. I... shit, I just meant that I don't want to waste time moping around. The Games are bound to begin in two or three days, and I just don't feel like sulking around when I could be, you know, talking to you or fooling around with Eddie and Marius."

Florence gulps, but ultimately nods. "I get that. It's just that it's so damn hard for me sometimes — thinking that I may die within the next few days, and that _you_ may die, too." She notices the amused smile playing on Fred's lips, and immediately adds, "I mean _you_ as in you and Eddie and Marius, obviously."

Fred chuckles. "Obviously." He lifts himself up, now sitting right next to her, and bumps his shoulder against hers. "No, really, I get it. And it sucks that we've had to meet like this, but I sometimes feel thankful for at least getting to live... you know, this. Some people go around leading unremarkable lives for decades, but at least we've got... well, you know."

Florence's eyebrows rise questioningly. "What do you mean?"

Fred shrugs, a timid smile on his face. "The chance to have gotten to know each other in this otherwise unremarkable world, I guess."

His stomach churns when Florence's concerned expression turns into a wholehearted grin, and lets the girl rest her head on his shoulder. He has daydreamed about the two of them meeting under different circumstances ever since he first got to talk to her, but he reckons that their paths would have never even crossed if it weren't for the Games — she would have met someone in District Seven, and he would have followed his father's footsteps and married an upper-middle class girl from Ten. And he has always felt as though he doesn't _want_ that for himself — it would be lovely to lead a long, happy life under his own rules and conditions, but the possibility of living under the constant threat of being punished or attacked by the Capitol for the rest of his life makes the idea of dying at age eighteen only slightly less depressing. He will not die a free man, but at least the Capitol will not be able to take anything else away from him.

"I really do think I had a crush on you from the very moment I saw your Reaping," Florence blurts all of a sudden, a sheepish smile on her face. "You were all tall and clumsy with your red hair and freckles and I was like, oh, I would have _such_ a big crush on him if he had been one of my classmates or a neighbor or something like that."

Fred smiles, closing his eyes for a second. He could _live_ in this moment for the rest of his life, he realizes, and he lets that feeling sink in before replying.

"I think I felt the same way about you," he finally reckons. "Emmaline and I were watching the other Reapings and when I saw yours I genuinely thought I'd never seen a prettier girl in my life. But that's just the tip of the iceberg, really — you're so much more than a pretty face."

Florence smiles against his shoulder, and then looks up at him with an almost timid expression.

"We still have a couple days left until the Games begin, you know," she says as their eyes meet. "I really do think we should make the most out of them."

Fred nods in agreement, a silly smile on his face. He quietly links his fingers with hers, and clasps Florence's hand in his. "Yeah, that's very true."

He could swear he feels butterflies in his stomach when Florence's lips press against his, sweet and hungry and tender and furious, almost as though they were made for the sole purpose of finding each other.

* * *

**Hey kiddos — sorry I went slightly M.I.A. over the past few days. Self-isolation has been a bit tough for me and my mental health and I couldn't really bring myself to write anything fic-related, simply because I've pretty much done nothing but sulk around the house and play Animal Crossing (which is brilliant by the way!). So yeah, sorry about that. I hope you're all still interested in this story, though — I feel as though some people's interest may have deflated over the course of the weeks, and while that's totally okay I do wish I could get some feedback on how I'm doing sometimes — but that's okay, I don't wanna be all whiny over here. I just want you guys to know that I still fully intend to keep writing this story, and even though my mental health and my usual way of being makes me work in very random spikes and outbursts of concentration I will definitely try and have the remaining pre-Games chapters up before Easter — and then we'll finally move onto the Games! I really can't wait for you guys to see what's in store, and how the alliances and romances will work once they're all thrown into the Arena. Anyway, I hope this chapter was all right and that you enjoyed it — please do let me know how you felt about it via review. The District Eleven interviews should be up sometime soon — in the meantime, please take care, wash your hands and respect the quarantine restrictions so that we can go back to normal as quickly as possible.**

**-s.**


	14. District 11 - Interviews

**District Eleven**

**Interviews — Two days to the Hunger Games**

* * *

**Cain Lewis — 6:30 PM**

Cain only realizes that he is trembling when the camera technician tells him it's time for him to go onstage.

He gulps, not feeling relieved in the slightest by Casireida's sympathetic smile. They have gotten along just fine over the past few days, but the age difference between them — Cain has only just turned fourteen, and the girl will turn nineteen in a month or so if the Games don't get in the way — has made it utterly impossible for them to consider forming a real, solid alliance. Still, Cain feels somewhat relieved by the knowledge of her distant support, and quietly offers her a thankful nod before standing up and following the technician onstage. Octavius Flickerman offers him one of those charming, irresistible smiles of his — Cain knows that Octavius's father was the Hunger Games host before him, and that the much younger Octavius had begun to follow his footsteps shortly after his father retired, right after the 97th Hunger Games. The man looks a little intimidating at first, all young and beautiful like every single Capitol in the room, and Cain offers him a nervous smile when the man stands up to shake his hand. The crowd is hooting and clapping merrily at him, and Cain can't quite believe he has become the focus of the entire country's attention all of a sudden, but he still manages to gulp his worries away and offer the camera a feeble smile before taking a seat next to Octavius.

"Well, well, well," the presenter says, an understanding smile on his face. "Cain Lewis, it is definitely a pleasure to meet you."

"S-same thing here, Octavius," Cain stutters sheepishly.

"Sounds like someone's a little tense," Octavius smiles and places an understanding hand on the boy's shoulder. Cain's first instinct is to back away, but he eases into the gesture as the presenter continues, "Don't be shy, Cain. We're all dying to get to know you, aren't we?" He makes an encouraging gesture towards the crowd, and the claps and cheers resume. Cain silently wonders how someone can be so effortlessly cool and charming, and fiddles with his golden tie for a few seconds, avoiding Octavius's insistent eyes.

"All right..." The presenter clicks his tongue, understanding that his first approach to the fourteen-year-old's naturally shy attitude has not worked. "Well, tell me about the past week, Cain. How's the Capitol treated you?"

"Oh, it's been amazing," Cain mutters, trying his best at doing an awkward smile while at it. "The food was splendid — I really haven't eaten this much in my life."

Octavius laughs heartily, in an almost encouraging gesture. "That's a common one, Cain. Especially from kids coming from humble backgrounds — which is your case too, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes," Cain nods, and hopes his brother Peter isn't watching his interview because he will probably spit something about him being an ungrateful twat. "I've a bunch of bigger siblings, though, so my parents decided that I shouldn't take tesserae because they already work in the fields with my dad. We've never struggled economically, I guess, at least not as much as other families in my District do."

Octavius nods understandingly, and Cain can't help but think that he actually has _no_ idea how poverty-stricken District Eleven is. He may have seen reports on the telly or even sent donations during droughts, but the truth is that he has never seen people _die_ like Cain has over the course of the years. He has never feared for his friends and family's babies dying because their mothers might not be able to breastfeed them, and he definitely has never struggled with the possibility of starving to death simply because the weather has decided not to behave itself for once. Cain's family has always tried to shelter him from all the pain and suffering that comes along with sheer poverty, but he knows the world that he has lived in for the past fourteen years like the back of his hand, and he knows that to think that Octavius Flickerman understands him would be a betrayal to all those half-starved citizens of his District that may be watching his interview right now.

"So you come from a large family, right?" Octavius finally asks, omitting Cain's last comment with a diplomatic smile. "That's good, right? I bet the lot of them will be cheering you on from your home, and so will your friends from school. One of our Capitol journalists got to interview your friends Isabella and Jemimah, what can you tell us about them? Is one of them, you know... _more_ than a friend?"

Cain's cheeks flush bright red, and he has to lower his gaze again before scratching his cheek a little.

"Uh, no, not at all," he says, shaking his head. "We're really good friends, that's all."

"Well, I bet every single girl in District Eleven will be _dying_ to be your girlfriend when you get back from the Games." Octavius laughs heartily, making a segment of the audience laugh, too. Cain just sits there, all flustered and anxious about how awfully wrong this all feels, and gulps when the presenter looks back at him again, dreading the next question. "The Gamemakers gave you a six, didn't they, Cain? What skills did you show them during your session?"

Cain shrugs and vaguely replies, "I'm good at climbing and throwing knives, but that's it." Octavius smiles, not unkindly, and Cain feels as though he can't avert his eyes any longer, and so he looks up at him and adds, "I don't know if I have it in me to win the Games. I don't think I do, but I will try my best."

Octavius nods. "We all hope you do, Cain." He offers the boy a sympathetic smile, and Cain feels a faint sense of ease for the first time since he walked onstage. "So tell me — out of all your loved ones, who do you think you will miss the most during the Hunger Games?"

Cain actually gives the question some thought before replying. He loves his parents dearly, and Joshua has always been his favorite sibling — he has never complained about how Cain had it easier than his three elder siblings, and has always acknowledged Cain's sensible, empathic nature. Cain even knows that he has been in love with their neighbor Dante for as long as he can remember, and that they would live together by now if his District's policy against homosexual couples weren't so blatantly discriminative. His sister Anne-Marie, who only recently moved back into their family home with her baby daughter, is also a genuinely loving human being, but she also happens to feel a certain resent towards the way their parents have coddled Cain all his life while she was forced to take tesserae for a few loaves of bad bread. Peter, the second youngest sibling, has always been a whole lot more vocal about his resent towards Cain — he has outright scolded Cain in front of everyone else more than once because of how their parents have offered him a perfectly sheltered life while his siblings broke their backs working in the fields and taking care of the house, which undoubtedly made Cain a 'class traitor' and an 'ungrateful brat'.

"Well," Cain says finally, his tone soft but a lot more decided than before. "I love them all, honestly, but I think I'm going to miss my baby niece the most. Her name is Ida and she's currently eighteen months old. She's been living with us for the past year or so, and she's... well, pretty much the baby sister that I never had."

Some members of the audience 'oooh' at his reasoning, and there's even some background clapping and cheering that for once hasn't been provoked by the presenter. Octavius offers him a sad smile and nods, patting his shoulder ever so lightly.

"She must be absolutely lovely," he says. "I bet she will be very proud of you, Cain."

"I hope so," the boy mumbles, his tone quivering at the thought of never getting to see Ida become the brave little girl that she is shaping up to be. "I want her to live the happiest life possible. I also want my sister to find a new husband who isn't abusive or drunk all the time, and I want my brother Joshua to — " _To be free with the man he loves_, Cain thinks to himself, but instead adds, "To live life to its fullest and to never be afraid. I just wanted to say that to them in case I never — well, in case I never make it back, you know."

Octavius nods — and for once it really does seem like he genuinely understands what Cain is saying. He has been interviewing the twenty-four tributes being sent to the Games for the past three or four years, meaning that he has interviewed nearly a hundred children who never made it home. A shiver runs down Cain's spine, realizing that he might be about to become one of those names and faces that are never remembered when the glory of the Hunger Games is brought up in a normal conversation — he is nobody, and he probably will not even be remembered by his young niece and the children that his brother Peter may have with his fiancé Constance in the future. His family will mourn him for a bit, especially his mother, but they will ultimately get over his loss, and they will lead a happy, unremarkable life like most people in his District do. And he will be nothing but ash and dust and sweat and tears, and the realization of his own unimportance makes him want to cry in front of the cameras like he did when he first got reaped.

"Cain?" Octavius places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and grimaces when the boy backs away on his seat like a scared rabbit. "I'm afraid your time is up, Cain. Is there anything else that you would like to say before leaving?"

Cain shakes his head and casts his eyes down to his shoes, standing up in the most awkward of manners. He shakes Octavius's hand and then leaves the stage as the crowd faintly claps him goodbye, falling to his knees as soon as he is back in the waiting area.

"You all right?" The boy from Five asks him, a kind gesture on his face. His interview has been excellent, Cain recalls — he had acted all playful and childish and followed every single one of Octavius's jokes, making the entire audience laugh and clap several times. The boy places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You did just fine, you know. I hated every minute up there, too."

Cain gulps, and nods in a thankful gesture. The boy offers him a sympathetic smile and tells him to let him know if he ever needs anything, to which Cain replies with a faint, sad smile, thinking of Jemimah and Isabella and Ida and Joshua and Anne-Marie and his parents, and how their lives will go on well after his last dying breath.

And he smiles, because the knowledge of their well-being makes him feel a little relieved, if only for the briefest of seconds.

* * *

**Casireida Lye — 6:50 PM**

Casireida flashes an elegant smile at the crowd before shaking Octavius's hand, even going as far as doing a little twirl to show off her strapless red dress with green leaf details, with Octavius's cheering her on merrily.

"What a beauty!" The presenter coos, a fond smile on his face. Cain's interview has been rather glum, and the man must feel relieved by Casireida's much more charismatic attitude. "Please do take a seat, Casireida. May I call you Cas?"

"Sure thing, Octavius!" Casireida chirps happily as she takes a seat next to him, gracefully straightening her dress before adding, "It feels so weird to be here! I've always watched the interviews from the comfort of my house, and I really can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm here, getting to chat with you in person. You're such an _attractive_ man, Octavius!"

"Oh, I get that all the time," Octavius replies, feigning a dismissive gesture with an amused smile. He then takes Casireida's hand in his, leaning a little closer to her — in a semi-flirtatious way, although Casireida already knows that he is merely performing his usual charming, lowkey sexy TV host role. "So I gather the Capitol has been treating you nicely the past few days, Cas?"

"Of course!" Casireida nods merrily. "I learned plenty of useful things for the Games, and the Gamemakers were exceptionally nice. They gave me a six! Can you believe that? I'd never even held a sickle before!" The audience laughs, and Casireida feels immensely satisfied by the sound of their laughter. She is acing her interview so far, and she knows that playing the role of the grateful young woman from a poor District suits her perfectly. "The food is also excellent. I've become obsessed with risotto! I never knew rice could be cooked like that, and it's absolutely delicious."

"It is, isn't it?" Octavius nods, smiling encouragingly as the audience claps in agreement — he surely feels relieved by the way this interview is going a lot better than the previous one. "So tell me about your life back home, Cas. We hear you got married last summer, right? What can you tell us about your new family?"

Casireida halts for a second when his husband and daughter come to her mind. She feigns a happy smile and shrugs her shoulder, deciding that it is probably best to play the innocent young bride instead of being honest about how broken she feels about it all.

"Michigan and I were high school sweethearts," she explains. "We've been together since I was fourteen, and he's the love of my life. We got married as soon as I turned eighteen, and the past few months have been the happiest of my life. We had our daughter Lidiyah three months ago — she's the most precious thing on Earth, and I can't wait to see the two of them again." She then looks directly at the camera and adds, in a tone that would normally be a little too over-the-top, "Mitch, Lid. I love the two of you to the moon and back, and I will fight my hardest to make it home to you."

The audience seems moved by her gesture, and so does the presenter, who wipes out a little tear before holding her hand again.

"That was a very moving gesture, Cas," he says, visibly touched by the tragic undertones of it all. "We're all sure Michigan and Lidiyah will always be there to cheer you on and that they will be the first ones to welcome you home after the Games. Aren't we?"

The crowd cheers in agreement, and Casireida offers them the sad puppy smile that she has been practicing for the last twenty-four hours or so. She doesn't feel great about becoming the Capitol's newest and shiniest toy, but she will do whatever it takes to go back to his husband and daughter. They will never understand what it feels like to find true love and to be ripped away from them all of a sudden, to carry a tiny human being nine months inside of you and to suddenly realize that you may never get to see them grow up. She cannot remember what she thought her life would be like before she met Michigan, and she isn't sure she wants to know — he has been her whole life for the past four years, and he has only ever been outshined by the undying love that Casireida felt when she held her daughter in her arms for the first time. She gathers her parents must have felt that way about each other and about her when she was first born, and she wishes she could have gotten to know them a little better before their untimely passing. She feels a pang of guilt when she realizes that Lidiyah might feel the same way about her if she dies in the Games, and she silently hopes that Michigan will tell her all about her loving mother if she never makes it back.

She hates the Capitol for what they're doing to her, but she hates them even more when she realizes that her daughter might never get to know her own mother because of their wretched ways. She has to try her hardest not to frown on national television, and instead just offers Octavius another shallow, charismatic smile.

"They most certainly will be," she nods in agreement. Her superfluous smile has now become a light pout, and she adds, "I really hope you guys will cheer me on while I'm in the Arena, though!"

"Oh, we most definitely will, Cas!" Octavius assures her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We've all felt very moved by your story and your sincere love for your husband and daughter — the audience will hardly forget that." Most of the people sitting in the stalls cheer in agreement, and Casireida smiles in acknowledgement. Octavius offers her a kind smile before adding, "Well, I think our time is up, Cas. It has been a genuine pleasure to meet you."

"Same here, Octavius." The girl stands up and shakes the presenter's hand before giving him a warm hug. "It's been lovely to chat with you for a bit."

Octavius seems touched by the gesture, and offers her one last smile before nodding. "We're all rooting for you, Cas. I wish you the best!"

Casireida grins at him and does a little bow in front of the camera as the audience cheers her on, clapping and hooting enthusiastically. She owns them right now, she realizes, and she loves everything about it. She relishes on the sound of their mellifluous cries of approval, and she even blows one last kiss at the audience before leaving the stage. They all keep clapping as the District Twelve boy walks onstage, even cheering her name from time to time, and she grins to herself when she realizes that she has _completely_ aced it. Her mentor claps her back merrily, and even Cain offers her a shy congratulation. She's their best shot at winning the Games right now, and she vows that she will try her best to do so. The only thing she has ever wanted is to live a sheltered, peaceful life with her husband and daughter and, in forbidding her from doing so, the Capitol has triggered a series of changes and moods that had always been hidden under her soft, more courageous skin, and she even grins mischievously when she realizes that she has somehow tricked them all into believing that she is nothing but an innocent, merciful young woman who wouldn't hurt a fly during the Games.

She really cannot wait to prove them all wrong.

* * *

**WOOHOO ONE CHAPTER TO GO KIDS, I'M SO PUMPED ABOUT IT. I hope you lot are just as excited about it as I am! And as always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter — please let me know what you thought of it via review. :)**

**Also! Someone requested it so here's a list of the alliances so far:**

**• Career Pack: Evander Luxx (D1M), Celeste Duvall (D1F), Dorcas Findlay (D2F), Mercia Hollis (D4F), Seamus Hay (D12M).**

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M), Eddie Thame (D7M), Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M).**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M), Jonas Slaine (D5M), Agnes Colman (D9F), Ted Berninger (D9M).**

**• Kai Anderson (D4M), Drew Coleson (D6M), Anouk Gainsbourg (D6F), Emmaline MacArthur (D10F).**

**• Arya Stark (D5F), Tee Reynolds (D8F).**

**That's it for now! I really can't wait for you guys to see what's coming once we're done with the pre-Games. I've already planned it all out and trust me, it's gonna be one helluva ride!**

**-s.**


	15. District 12 - A Few Hours To Go

**District Twelve**

* * *

**Seamus Hay — 11:00 PM — Ten hours to the Hunger Games**

Seamus doesn't trust his own allies, he realizes as he gazes through the window. But life has taught him to keep his friends close and that, since he doesn't have any of those, he should always keep his enemies closer.

He grins mischievously at the idea of slicing Mercia's throat, contemplating the possibility of doing it during one of his patroling shifts; he even thinks of the possibility of stabbing Celeste to death, her perfect clothes and body drenched in blood and sweat and guts and spit gorging out of her mouth. He has helped his father kill porks and lambs several times, and he knows his way around a knife — they think he's nothing but a little, non-threatening merchant boy from Twelve, but he is just about to prove them _very_ wrong. In fact, he is about to prove every single person in his life wrong — his parents, who always taught him to be the better person; his sister, whose resemblance to their mother, both in her quirks and mannerisms and her wispy blond hair and light skin, irritates Seamus like nothing else quite can. He _loathes_ them all, simply because they've never understood him, and he can't wait to show them that they will _never_ be able to tame him. He wasn't born to be the better person, or to emulate his father's general kindness, and he most definitely cannot wait to show the other tributes how extremely good he is at throwing knives and using them to slit a throat or two as soon as the Games begin.

He smiles, leaning against the wall of his private bedroom. He thinks of Luster and the way they used to have fun together before he was taken away after the Reaping. Not that he has ever minded being "taken away", though — he sees his reaping as a chance of showing everyone what he's worth and, most importantly, the pain that he is capable of inflicting on other people. The Peacekeepers took his knives away before he boarded the Capitol train — which was just about the only thing that bothered him about the whole process, because he felt fairly thrilled about pretty much everything else that happened to him ever since his name came out of the District Twelve escort's mouth — and he misses the feeling of them against the hems of his fingers, playfully tracing shapes against them and even pricking them a little whenever he felt anxious. He is a slightly ill-tempered young man, and the sight of his own blood sprouting out of his fingers reminds him to keep his feelings grounded — the visceral physicality of it all, the way it reminds him of the fact that he is inhabiting a human body with restrictions and limitations, helps him calm down whenever he is feeling a little under the weather. It isn't self-harm, and it isn't irresponsible, like his father had said once — he simply likes to relish on his on mortality, on the way he could end his own life or someone else's if he wished to. It makes him feel powerful, and he misses the possibility of playing with his own drops of blood before going to sleep every night.

Other people might have thought him deranged. In fact, nearly everyone he knows back in District Twelve thinks he is pretty much insane — his parents still try to love him in spite of it all, and his little sister Amber — that little bitch, Seamus grumbles to himself — even seems to _love_ him more because of it, because she seems to think that her big brother is broken and that someone has died and made her boss of what he should do with his life. He has always tried to push her away, but she's like an annoying worm that will never quite leave him alone, and he is glad he has finally gotten rid of her, at least for a while. He cringes at the thought of her sobbing and hugging him tight if he ever makes it back, acting like the perfect sister she thinks she is. God, he just _hates_ her so much.

He looks through the window and leans against its frame, observing the Capitolite life outside. It's Friday evening, and most of the pubs in front of the Training Center are crammed with Capitolites hanging out with their friends and family after a long day at work, wearing their fanciest clothes and holding extravagant cocktails in their hands as they loudly laugh at their friends' anecdotes from the office. They're probably talking about them, too — the twenty-four teenagers who will be getting thrown into the Arena first thing tomorrow, and that they think they have gotten to know fairly well through watching the recordings of their Reapings and interviews over and over again. Seamus can't help but laugh at the naiveness of it all — he himself put on a pitiful façade and nearly cried onstage during his interview, moaning about how he missed his family and his ample group of friends back home. _Bullshit_. He hates his family, and Luster — a twenty-four-year-old Peacekeeper — is his only friend, or something like that. They both get along fairly well because of their shared pleasure of seeing others suffer — he cackles a little at the memory of the two of them strutting down the Seam and bumping into two children who were playing together, and Luster suddenly forcing the two of them to fight over a stale loaf of bread. The boys had initially refused to fight each other for a piece of bread, but they had changed their mind when Luster threatened to shoot them for disobeying a Peacekeeper, and the two of them had howled in delight at the sight of the scratches and bruises on the loser's face, with his young friend on the verge of tears as he held the loaf of bread in his hands. It's twisted, but it is probably the best memory he keeps from his District.

"Seamus," a voice calls from the corridor. He rolls his eyes when he recognizes his mentor's good-natured, soft tone. Peeta Mellark isn't exactly an imposing man, even at age forty-two. "Don't you think you should go to bed? Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

_Like Hell it will be_. But Seamus doesn't dare snap back, because he knows that Peeta's wife, Katniss, isn't half as good-natured as he is.

"Yeah, I'm just stretching out a bit before heading to bed," he lies through the door. He doesn't feel like sitting through one of Peeta's insufferably positive pep talks, and so he simply adds, a bit curtly, "Don't worry, I'm fine."

He can almost see the way Peeta's face falls at the idea of not getting to cheer him up before they part ways.

"Oh. All right, then." His mentor's voice is weaker now, and he just sighs and pauses before adding, "Just let me know if you need anything, will you?"

Seamus rolls his eyes again, because he can't quite believe Peeta Mellark's sheer _insufferableness_.

"All right, Peeta," he mumbles. "Don't worry."

Peeta seems to hesitate for a second, but Seamus eventually hears his footsteps drifting away from his bedroom, probably on his way back to Katniss and their private chambers. Seamus just huffs and takes a seat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he quietly wonders how the man even _won_ the Hunger Games to begin with. He's too… _good_. Katniss must have done most of the killing, he reasons — but he still doesn't quite understand how he managed to make it through his Games without being murdered. He for one knows that he would have killed him in his sleep if a sixteen-year-old Peeta had been anywhere near him in the Arena.

He laughs quietly as he leans back onto his bed, because the idea of slitting Peeta Mellark's throat is absolutely _thrilling_ to him all of a sudden.

* * *

**Elizabeth Starr — 4:30 AM — Four and a half hours to the Hunger Games**

Elizabeth is only fifteen, but she feels as though she has been through more than most people in their entire lifetime.

She knows she doesn't look like the average Slum girl, because her hair is long and blond and her eyes are a pale green, with perfectly white skin and even looking a little chubby on the sides because she just cannot loose her baby fat, apparently, which annoys her to no end. She wants to grow up and look like a woman, a bit like the older female tributes do — she admires Celeste's flawless curves and the sheer beauty of Mercia's face, and there is something effortlessly organic about the way Florence walks around the Training Center with her new friends that makes her wish she could be as naturally graceful as her. Most of the other kids are scrawny and undernourished, but she envies those whose beauty has actively been exploited by their stylists — her own stylist, on the other hand, decided to dress her like a doll, so Elizabeth had ended up choosing her own clothes and wore a black blouse, ripped blue jeans and platform suede sandals for her interview; it made her look a bit more adult than the original dress would have, but it fell flat in comparison to Mercia's stunning blue dress and Celeste's perfect makeup and hairstyle. At least, she reasons, she did manage to offer the Capitol the vibe that she intended to give off — that of a rebellious, tough girl who replied to most of Octavius's questions nonchalantly and noncommittally, even going as far as glaring at the presenter when he mentioned her family. She is sure her lack of interest in what was going on hasn't exactly earned her sponsors, and that her lack of allies will definitely become a handicap once she is in the Arena, but she will figure it all out when the right time comes — she intends to make a run for it right after grabbing an axe, with her stealthiness and quick feet hopefully getting her there before the Careers arrive. She has it all figured out, she likes to think, because she is used to having it all under control at all times and she could _never_ just go into the Hunger Games without a well-thought plan that she could rely on at all times.

The first streaks of sunlight are peering through the clouds, and something tells Elizabeth that it is nearly time to go. Katniss and Peeta aren't up yet — she would have heard Peeta's usual fumbling with the coffee machine if they were — and she doesn't really care whether Seamus has died in his sleep or if he's up and about, so she just stretches a little before changing into her new clothes and leaving her pajamas on the unmade bed. An Avox left her new uniform inside her wardrobe the previous night — she scrutinizes her new uniform carefully before slipping the black leggings on. They're comfortable, but not excessively warm — which means they won't be shipped off to a cold Arena, thank goodness. The shoes are average, impermeable sneakers, so she guesses that it will not be a particularly mountainous area, either — she ties her shoes like a schoolgirl would before heading off to breakfast, and even laughs a little when she realizes that the socks are impermeable and surprisingly comfortable, too. The t-shirt is made of perfect, fluffy black cotton, with soft red stripes along the hem, and the jacket is impermeable like the sneakers but also has a double lining that can be taken out with a zip — which might mean that the Arena will become a little chilly at night, she reasons, but not so much as to include an anorak or a thicker coat as a part of their attire. It is a rather plain uniform overall, which makes Elizabeth think that the weather wherever they are headed to will not be too extreme. It is somewhat reassuring to think so, she reckons as she puts the jacket on, and even smiles at herself in the big, full-size mirror in front of her when she realizes that the uniform looks like it has been made specifically for her — until she realizes it _has_ been made for her, just like everything else that has surrounded her for the past ten days or so.

"Fucking Capitol, man," she mumbles to herself, a half-annoyed, half-pleased smile on her face as she curls her toes inside her sneakers. She is used to wearing her mother's worn, rough around the edges shoes whenever they get passed on to her, and finally getting to wear brand-new clothes does feel kind of refreshing in spite of what is currently at stake.

She touches her hand to her brother's rabbit foot, which was given to her as a token by the ten-year-old right before she left the Justice Building, and smiles when she wonders what Harry might be thinking of it all — she gathers that her little brother would very simply stare in awe at all the luxury and commodities that have been offered to his big sister, and would ramble on about how she is totally going to win the Hunger Games because she's 'the bestest big sister ever', like he has put it in front of their parents more than once. Harry is Elizabeth's weakest spot, and the frailty of some of the younger tributes reminds her of him at times — she wants to toughen herself up and act as though she doesn't care for them, but she knows that she will struggle at hurting them if she happens to bump into little Jonas or scrawny Theodora inside the Arena. She will have to avoid them at all costs, she gathers, and hope that someone kills them off before she absolutely has to.

She tiptoes outside her room, and almost gasps when she bumps into a very tired-looking Katniss Everdeen.

"Katniss," she breathes, perhaps a bit too loudly. She has never really admired anyone aside from her mother and father, but Katniss Everdeen is as close as it gets. Elizabeth has always liked the way she acts around the Capitol and how she is still unable to keep her mouth shut, and being mentored by her has been by far the most exciting thing about the past couple of weeks.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd be up so early." Katniss mumbles, rubbing her eye with her fist. Elizabeth admires the way she still looks fresh and ready to go, in spite of being forty-two years old. She isn't exactly beautiful, not really, but there's something about her dark, Slum-like complexion that feels almost enthralling to Elizabeth in a city of pale-looking, surgically modified people like the Capitol.

"I don't think I've actually slept at all," Elizabeth admits, shrugging her shoulders lightly. She glances at Seamus's door, and almost lets out a relieved sigh when she realizes that it is still firmly shut — meaning that he is either asleep or too caught up in his own sadistic thoughts to care what is going on outside his bedroom. She eyes Katniss again and adds, in her usual quiet tone, "I think I might grab some breakfast before they all get up, too."

Katniss nods. "That's a good idea, kid. Peeta always gets upset if I have breakfast without him, so I think I'm just going to wait for him and Seamus."

Elizabeth frowns. "I thought the two of you would sleep soundly through the night, honestly."

Katniss lets out a small chuckle. "Me? I haven't had a decent night's sleep since I was sixteen, kid."

Elizabeth nods, quietly understanding what her mentor means. She hasn't been through the experience that is fighting her way through the Hunger Games yet, but she now realizes how utterly reckless Katniss's experience must have been — being forced to kill several kids her own age and taking care of a wounded Peeta while at it must not have been exactly easy, and she sometimes even wonders if she is going to be able to pull through it herself. She will not be taking care of anyone, of course, and she doesn't feel too strongly about killing people if she must, but there is still a nasty thought itching at the back of her head, urging her to be the better person and just rot to death as soon as the Games begin, instead of engaging in their viciousness and senseless killing.

"Uh," Elizabeth glances around awkwardly, then feebly looks at her hands and mutters, "Yeah, I'm gonna go get breakfast."

"Hey," Katniss places a gentle hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, which startles the girl like nothing else quite could have. Katniss is the exact opposite of a touchy person — unlike her husband Peeta, who is always kissing her forehead and patting the tributes' shoulder in a friendly manner — and they haven't exactly been close during the past ten days, which makes everything all the more surprising for Elizabeth. "I know you've a baby brother back home. You... you need to do this for him, all right? He'll get you home — my sister was what kept me from going insane while I was in there."

Elizabeth gulps, but nods quietly. She understands the feeling that Katniss has just described — Harry has been pretty much the most important person in her life ever since he was born, and her sole regret about dying in the Games would be never getting to hug him again. She knows she has to do it for him, and that she has to put her morals aside for as long as she can once she enters the Arena.

"I know," she replies softly. "I... I just don't want to die and leave him to pick up the pieces, you know. My family's wretched enough as it is."

Katniss nods. "I understand, kid. Just... try your best, and be brave. Don't become a killing machine like the Careers, but don't hesitate if you're ever in danger, all right? Peeta and I will also try and get you some help over here — I, er, doubt Seamus will get any support from the sponsors, so I suppose we'd better focus on you instead."

"All right," Elizabeth even manages to smile a little, which also happens to be a rather uncommon gesture in her. "Thanks, Katniss. I mean it."

And Katniss smiles too — one of those rare, genuine smiles that she only ever does in private and most likely towards Peeta, which makes the gesture all the more heartwarming.

"Good luck, Elizabeth," she says simply, squeezing the fifteen-year-old's shoulder ever so lightly. "Good luck."

And, if only for a fleeting moment, Elizabeth feels as though she might really have a shot at surviving the Hunger Games. For Harry, for Katniss, for Peeta. For everyone at home who feels as though they are pariahs to the Capitol's lavishness.

She will defeat them all, she decides here and now, and she will enjoy every second of it.

* * *

**So! That's it for the pre-Games! Teehee I can't believe we've made it this far already! I want to make the Bloodbath as lengthy as possible (5k words or so, I think) so it might be a while till it gets posted, but I'll try my best! In the meantime, please do let me know what you think of this one via review! :)**

**-s.**


	16. Day One - Bloodbath

**Day One**

**_Bloodbath_**

* * *

**Celeste Duval — 8:58 AM — Two minutes to the Games**

A chilly breeze hits her face as soon as the platform comes to a halt, and Celeste grins for the first time since her Reaping when she opens her eyes and finds herself in the 100th Hunger Games Arena.

_Thirty._

She looks around, her fists tightening instinctively. Evander is standing on the platform to her left, and the boy from Two is on the one to her right. She briefly meets Dorcas's nervous eyes — she has never liked her much, but Evander insisted on making her part of the Career pack — and then offers Mercia a cheeky smile, to which her ally replies with a sardonic wave.

She can't see much of the Arena just yet, but she feels surprised by the way they seem to have popped up in the middle of a very ancient building. It is oval-shaped and its centre appears to be a small Arena itself, like the ones described in their Ancient History books back in school. The Cornucopia is packed with food, survival kits, and weapons, and there seem to be small scape routes through the building's hallways. She doesn't really know what might be waiting for them outside, but for now she focuses on memorizing every single inch of the building that they have been thrown into. The possibility of their Arena not being a natural environment, like a marshland or a tundra or a forest or a desert, has never even crossed her mind, but she guesses that the spirit of designing a Quarter Quell must have made the Gamemakers feel particularly innovative this year.

_Twenty._

She is so caught up in her own thoughts that she hasn't even noticed that the girl from Three has tripped and fallen to the ground, causing a giant explosion and startling the remaining twenty-three tributes.

"What the _hell_!" Evander sputters right next to her, visibly horrified. Celeste respects him because of his fighting and survival skills, but she will _never_ understand why he cares so much about the other tributes; she just rolls her eyes and chuckles softly at the sight of Sansa Winter's body parts scattered all over the Cornucopia.

The counter keeps going on as though nothing has just happened, and most of the tributes regain their composures within a few seconds. The boy from Three has tears in his eyes, and Celeste can't help but snort at the way Dorcas's face seems to have contorted in anguish. They're all weak, she tells herself, and it's going to be extremely easy to take them all down one by one.

_Ten._

Celeste tenses up, flexing her legs like she would before a training session back in her District.

_Nine._

She goes through the list of things that will happen within the next few seconds — everyone will start running, either towards the Cornucopia or attempting to scurry away from it. Mercia will take care of slaughtering whoever tries to pick up a weapon, and she will be in charge of protecting the food and supplies along with Evander. Seamus will guard the tech supply, and Dorcas — perhaps their weakest asset — is in charge of the backpacks, which have been neatly piled up next to each other.

_Eight._

She's anxious, of course, but she knows they're going to ace it.

_Seven_.

They'd better, because being outnumbered by a bunch of poor kids would be a _disgrace_.

_Six._

Not to mention that _fag _from District Two.

_Five._

What if they've all decided to plot against the Careers this year? They could easily outnumber them if they wanted to.

_Four._

Focus, Celeste. Most of these kids don't even know how to wield a weapon anyway.

_Three._

We're almost there! The merry thought of finally getting to slit someone's throat suddenly brightens her mood like nothing else could have.

_Two._

Shit, shit, shit, this is really happening.

_One._

She almost feels as though her heart is about to leap right out of her chest.

_Zero._

It all becomes a hectic blur. She launches towards the food supplies like they all agreed to, picking a set of knives on her way there. She curses when she realizes that the boys from Three and Five have picked up a backpack and some tech supplies that she can't quite identify from afar, and she angrily barks at Dorcas and Seamus to do their fucking job as the two boys scurry outside the Cornucopia. Seamus just barks at her to mind her own business, and immediately stabs the boy from Eight as he attempts to grab a backpack himself. Celeste can't really tell what is going on, but she decides that she shouldn't be worrying about those who have managed to leave the Cornucopia as long as they haven't taken any significant supplies with them. She holds a knife in each hand and glares threateningly at the tributes surrounding them, almost daring them to come closer, and she does not hesitate when the girl from Six tries to push past her in order to get some food — she immediately stabs her abdomen with one of the knives, then right through her heart with the other one. The girl falls limply to the ground, howling in pain, and Celeste just stabs her repeatedly until her screams die out.

She stands up once the girl is fully gone and observes what is going on around her. She silently curses when she spots the boys from Two, Seven, and Ten running away, each of them carrying different supplies, with the girl from Seven trotting with a backpack in front of them.

"Why the _fuck_ didn't you stop them?" Celeste roars at Dorcas, only to find that the girl has been severely wounded. Her machete has fallen to the ground and she is holding her hand against a sputtering gash on her thigh, her fingers clotted with blood and her expression an extremely pale one.

"Seamus, help her or something!" Mercia hollers as she fights the girl from Eleven, who is trying to get her hands on a set of knives. When she finally manages to push her off herself, Mercia stabs her repeatedly in the eye until blood spurges out from it and the girl's screams cease, with Mercia kicking her skull and cracking it open to finish the job.

Some of the weaker tributes are still roaming around the place, which makes Celeste feel slightly exasperated since all she wants is to be over and done with the Bloodbath. Seamus is busy fighting with the boy from Eleven, who eventually falls to the ground, where Seamus practically stomps on him until he stops breathing; Evander has launched himself towards Dorcas, helping her sit up and offering her a survival kit with several cotton bandages and nursing tape, making Celeste curse in sheer anger when she finds herself alone in front of the pile of supplies. She watches carefully as Mercia throws knives at the girl from Twelve, who falls to the ground limply with the axe that she had intended to steal from them in her hands, and she even cackles a little at the way the remaining kids just stare at the three of them — Seamus, Mercia, and herself, since Dorcas is way too busy bleeding to death and Evander has somehow decided it would be best to help her instead of doing his fucking job — in sheer horror. The girl from Nine has tried to take a bow and arrow while Mercia was busy slitting the girl from Twelve's throat, and she is brutally stabbed by Mercia just as she begins to make her way back to her boyfriend, who is carrying a backpack and in the outer circle of the Cornucopia, hiding behind a column. The boy lets out a howl as the girl — his _girlfriend_, Celeste tells herself contemptuously — and stands there, frozen for a second; he only reacts when one of Mercia's knives digs right into his leg, and he lets out another pained howl before managing to limp outside.

Mercia dashes towards him, clearly intending to finish him off, but Celeste screams, "_Stop_! It's not worth it. His wound will probably get infected anyway — give him a day or two and he'll drop dead himself."

Mercia grunts, clearly displeased by the impossibility of finishing him off herself, but ultimately nods grudgingly and returns to her position. Once Celeste makes sure that none of the other tributes are still roaming around the Cornucopia, she tilts her head lightly, as though commanding her allies to relax.

"That wasn't too bad," Evander says helpfully, placing Dorcas's arm around his shoulders to help her move. "We still have like, what, ninety percent of the food and weapons? They may have taken some backpacks and a few tech supplies, but it could have been a lot worse, couldn't it?"

"Oh, yeah?" Mercia snaps before applying some disinfectant to the gash on her otherwise perfect, pointed cheek. "_How_ could it have been worse, actually?"

"Hey, let's not fight over it," Celeste suggests, in a diplomatic tone that startles all four of her allies. Being the oldest Career makes her feel as though she's in charge of the other three, even if Mercia is a lot more reckless than her and Evander would probably outsmart her if they ever ended up in a fight. But she knows that playing the diplomat is the smartest thing she can do right now, so she shrugs and places a hand on Mercia's shoulder before popping a fresh water bottle open. "I think we should try and figure out why the hell we're stuck inside some sort of ancient building and what's outside of here."

"We're in a colosseum," Dorcas croaks, as she takes a seat next to one of the survival kits. When the other four look back at her with equally questioning expressions, she explains, "A colosseum is an Ancient Roman building where gladiator combats and predator fights were held. If we're in a colosseum — _the_ Colosseum, maybe — I think I already know what we can expect from the Arena outside here."

"How do you even know that?" Mercia questions. "And _what_ are we supposed to expect from what's outside?"

"My brother Lorcan is into History," Dorcas replies weakly, shrugging her shoulders. "And I liked reading about it with him when we were little. His books had photos and everything, and the ones picturing the Colosseum made it look _very_ similar to this place, as far as I can remember."

Celeste does a feeble, understanding smile, and places a hand on Dorcas's shoulder as she offers her the water bottle. The girl takes it and offers her a pleased smile, which tells Celeste that the fourteen-year-old is on her side now — just as she had expected from the very beginning. The five of them may be allies as of right now, but she knows that at the end of the day she will have to fight Mercia to death if she wants to become this year's Victor. And, when the right time comes, she knows that she will have to scout off with a tight group of allies — and, to be entirely honest, she would very much rather rely on a fourteen-year-old cripple than on the nutjob that Seamus appears to be.

"My father is very interested in History, too," Celeste explains. "He would always tell me stories about the Colosseum and the wonders of Ancient Rome, and of how people used to visit the ruins of the ancient city until not so long ago. I think I already know what our Arena will look like if we go upstairs and take a look over the rooftops."

"And what will it _look _like?" Seamus asks, an annoyed expression on his face. The boy has crossed his arms and strapped a set of knives around his chest, with half a dozen of daggers now rattling whenever the wind blows around him.

Celeste does a wry smile and takes another set of knives herself, pulling one out before pointing up at the sky. The sun is shining bright above them, in a cloudless sky that reminds her of the brightest summer days of her childhood.

"We're in Rome," she says finally. "The city of Rome is this year's Arena."

* * *

**Ted Berninger — 10:30 AM**

Ted lets out a choked sob as soon as he falls to the ground outside the Cornucopia, forgetting about everything around him for the briefest of seconds. He has no time to register what surrounds him; his eyes go blurry with tears and he has to take his glasses off to wipe them off furiously. He isn't crying because of the blood that keeps seeping out of the profound gash that Mercia's knife has ripped open on his leg — he still has to figure out how to remove the knife — but because of what has just happened in the Cornucopia. Agnes _promised_ him that she wouldn't risk it, that they would simply make a run for it and meet up with Milo and Jonas as soon as they could. And if they didn't find them, well, they would still have each other, and Ted could have worked with that. But she _had_ risked it, and she had thought herself capable of outsmarting a sodding _Career_, and now she's dead and gone and Ted feels as though his entire existence has become utterly pointless all of a sudden.

He hiccups several times as he settles against a broad stone behind him. He vaguely looks around and realizes that he has scurried into some sort of ancient ruin, and then looks down at the knife that is still very much nailed into his upper thigh. It is painfully close to the back of his knee, and flexing his leg makes an electrical, unbearable pain run up his spine and exhale a frustrated gasp. His cheeks are blotchy and his eyes red from all the crying, but he puts his glasses on again and takes the backpack off to see what's inside. A chocolate bar, a clean bandage, some sealing tape, a refillable water bottle, a sleeping bag, some coiled wire, and a pack of crackers.

"No iodine," he mumbles to himself, closing his eyes for a second. "Shit."

He leans back against the rock and wonders what Agnes would do. She would try and get the knife out as soon as possible, then disinfect the wound before bandaging it up and sealing it with the tape. She was _so _smart, he tells himself quietly. Not a bookish sort of smart like himself, but rather a knowledgeable person who understood and learned from what other people went through in spite of having had a life of relative privilege, at least by District Nine standards.

He can't wrap his head around the fact that he is never going to see her again. Not just yet.

He looks down at the wound and the knife, then back at his backpack. The water will have to do, he tells himself, and he closes his eyes before tightly grasping the handle of Mercia's knife with his left hand. He lets out a quiet groan when he begins to pull the knife out, then a much louder one when he moves his hand faster, biting his own fist in an attempt not to scream in pain as he drops the knife next to him. He feels light-headed from all the blood that he is losing, but he decides to apply some pressure on the wound before cleaning it with some of the water inside his bottle. He figures that bandaging it without sewing it up first will be insufficient, but it will have to do for now. He takes the clean bandage and wraps it tightly around his upper thigh, sealing it with a piece of tape before letting out a sigh and closing his eyes again.

"Agnes, we fucking did it," he mutters, a lump coming back to his throat as he thinks of her again.

He eyes the knife, matted with his own blood and sweat. He has never even used a knife before, but he figures that it may come in handy, so he decides to clean it up a little with his own t-shirt and place it inside his backpack. He takes his jacket off, too, because it is starting to get excruciatingly warm — even though it mustn't be any later than half past ten or eleven in the morning — and he zips his backpack closed once he's done. His leg still hurts almost as much as Agnes's loss does, etched onto the back of his skull at all times, but Ted knows that he _has_ to go on. He has to live and fight and avenge Agnes's death, because if he just abandons himself and lets the Careers prey on him instead of fighting them back her death will have meant nothing at all. He tries to stand up, yelping in pain as he does, and he leans against the rock once again when he manages to do so. Strapping his backpack to his chest with its hi-tech velcro, he casts one last glance back at the ancient building that holds the Cornucopia — where Agnes's limp body rests on the ground near the boy from Eleven's — and he allows himself one last moment of grief before walking off towards the colorful, oddly modern buildings in front of him.

He isn't strong, and he knows it. But he will try to win, or at least to die with dignity. For Agnes.

* * *

**Eddie Thame — 1:00 PM**

Eddie lets out a relieved sigh when his three allies decide to rest for a few minutes, and he is the first one to take a seat on one of the many abandoned benches scattered around the small square that they have wound up in.

"I can't believe the Arena's an actual _city_," Florence mutters, before taking a seat next to him. "It looks... pretty ancient, doesn't it?"

"It does," Fred agrees. He takes a seat on the ground in front of them as he opens his backpack, eager to see what they have managed to steal from the Careers. "Whoa, there's a whole tray of food in here! And a surgical kit! And… some coiled wire, I think?"

Eddie looks up at Marius, who is still analyzing the area surrounding them with a skeptical expression on his face. Eddie offers him a small smile when their eyes meet, and he almost laughs at the way Marius's cheeks turn a soft pink right after that. Sensing that Florence and Fred are too caught up in their conversation, concerning the contents of their backpacks and the food that they have managed to take from the Cornucopia, he offers Marius a discreet wink and pats on the empty seat next to him, his smile breaking into a grin when the boy sits right where he commanded him to.

"I wish I'd killed that Mercia bitch," he huffs, placing his backpack on top of his knees and resting his chin on top of it.

"What?" Eddie replies, his eyebrows rising. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"Of course I do," Marius replies. "She's an ass, and she's... well, a big fat homophobe, and she's always hated me for being out and about. Hell, they never even considered making me part of the Career pack because of how she had pretty much banned me from it — not that I would have joined them even if they had asked, of course, but..."

Eddie nods pensively. They have never openly discussed either of their sexual orientations before, but Marius has always been pretty vocal about the fact that he likes men, and men only. Eddie has always known that he likes both men and women, but he isn't sure if Marius is aware of that just yet — he has never actually _been _with a man before, and he has never really felt what he feels every single time their eyes meet. He isn't sure if the other boy thinks it's just playful banter from him, and he doesn't know how to address the subject — especially without being overheard by Florence and Fred, who have become more and more physically affective with each other as the days have gone by.

"All right," he sighs finally. "What should we do now?"

"Perhaps we could find some shelter inside one of those abandoned buildings?" Fred offers. "I think they must have been houses or offices back in the day. And we've walked past, like, a _million_ churches on our way here from the Cornucopia."

"That's true," Florence agrees. "There's plenty of places that we could settle into and form our own headquarters. We could take shifts and go on patrol and find food once we run out of the one we got from the Cornucopia."

"There's only two sleeping bags in total," Marius explains as he closes his backpack. "We could take turns, with two of us sleeping while the other two work or patrol or find food."

"That'd work for me," Fred agrees, nodding his head cautiously. "We should, er, ration the food and everything, shouldn't we?"

"Let's just find somewhere safe first," Eddie suggests. "We're still in the middle of the street, after all."

Florence nods in agreement as she slings her backpack over her shoulders. "Let's get going, then."

Fred immediately follows suit, and Marius takes a pair of sunglasses out of his backpack before following them into a smaller alley. Eddie might even have felt amused had he not been entirely aware of the harshness of the situation — they almost looked like a group of four friends, hanging out together in some ancient city while on holiday. He can even picture himself buying an ice cream from a random cart, strolling around the city with his arm wrapped around Marius's shoulders...

_Get a grip, Thane_.

His eyes fly up to a signal in front of him. He tilts his head lightly when he reads the name 'Piazza di Spagna', surprised by the way he somehow understands what those words mean — "Square of Spain" — even though he doesn't know what Spain is or how a square could be so utterly majestic, compared to the grey, frugal public areas of District Seven. His mother named him after her father, Edoardo, who came from a family of immigrants that had arrived to Panem well before the Dark Days from a country named Italy — even a good number of generations later, his mother still sputtered a few words in her family's mother tongue every now and then, and would even lull him and his sister Lucia to sleep with Italian nursery rhymes, like her mother did before her. He taps his chin lightly, wondering if the name is but a mere coincidence in their route, but he finally decides against it — there are no coincidences in the Hunger Games, simply because the Gamemakers are completely _obsessed_ with controlling every single thing that happens in the Arena.

"What's wrong, Ed?" Marius asks, turning around and lowering his sunglasses lightly. He has taken his jacket off and the sun shines brightly on his toned, slightly sweaty arms, which only makes Eddie's cheeks fluster even more.

"Oh, nothing," he replies, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "I just — I think the square's name is in Italian?"

"What's Italian?" Fred asks in front of him, visibly perplexed by Eddie's discovery.

"It's an ancient language, I think," Florence explains. "We had a lot of Italian immigrants in District Seven back in the day, I think."

"Yeah, my mom's family was one of those," Eddie says. "But I just don't understand why?"

Marius shrugs cluelessly. "I don't know. Perhaps they just wanted us to feel like we're in a foreign city?"

"Perhaps we _are_ in a foreign city," Fred replies. "I mean, it _does _look pretty legit to me, and as far as we were told back in school there was this continent called Europe like two centuries ago or so that got destroyed after several nuclear raids. So what if they've recreated one of those ancient cities?"

"They might have even _brought_ us to one of them," Eddie reasons, nodding. "But what does that mean, anyway?"

Marius shrugs again, perhaps feeling a little clueless amidst his allies's reasoning. His education had been a largely physical one and, whereas Florence's had been scarce and Fred's had focused on more scientific areas, it now seems as though he lacks even the faintest notions on World History and what had happened before Panem came to be. Not that the thick of their country's population knew anything about the outer world aside from the two or three nationalistic tell-tales that they were told at school when they were little, of course.

"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" The boy shrugs and pats Eddie's back amiably as he tilts his head towards an empty building in front of them. "Come on, let's go check that one out. We might even find some leftovers in there."

Eddie can't help but chuckle, even though he still feels a little perplexed by his own discovery.

"Do you think there might be any pizza?" Eddie counters, a half-smile on his face as he smacks Marius's shoulder in a friendly manner. He quietly notices the way Florence and Fred have linked hands, a few steps ahead of them, and he meekly looks back at Eddie as the boy whistles an old tune that the two of them used to hear on the radio all the time when they were children. Marius shrugs his shoulders, and Eddie notices that he is looking at Florence and Eddie's hands, too.

"Have you ever been in love, Ed?" Marius asks. His tone doesn't quaver, not at all — he casually fiddles with the straps of his backpack and offers the other boy a smile, as though he had just asked him about his sister's love life instead of his own.

Eddie coughs. He has _liked_ girls before, in a more physical, sensual way, but he doesn't think he has ever been in love. Lucia has always frowned upon the way he merely sleeps with people without wanting to feel emotionally attached to them, and he usually tended to steer clear of those girls who developed feelings for him after their encounters — after properly apologizing to them, of course. He has never lured girls into thinking that he loved them when he didn't, and he has never felt emotionally close to any of them. With Marius it is very much the other way round — they have barely touched at all, and yet there's something about the way he speaks and struts about that makes Eddie's stomach churn whenever he is around. He has never felt like this, not ever, and he cannot think of worse timing for such emotions to blossom.

"No, I don't think I have," he finally replies, shrugging his shoulders. "You?"

Marius doesn't hesitate, and shakes his head before entering the building that they had selected earlier. Every single apartment in it has broad balconies, which should make very optimal control areas once they have removed all the dead plants and replaced them with other things to cover them up as they watch the street in front of them.

"There really isn't that much room for love in a District where being gay is practically a crime," he replies. He then chuckles at the expression on Eddie's face. "What? It's no big deal, really. I've grown used to it over the course of the years."

"Still, that must be a pretty shitty environment to grow up in," Eddie reasons. He knows that they are being watched by the entire nation, and it hasn't occurred to him until now that many gay, lesbian, or bisexual young people may be watching them, and that they might find some strength in their words — if the Capitol doesn't edit them out before they are retransmitted, of course. "It's so great that you don't feel... bad about it, or anything. Most people in my District were a little repressed, too."

"Why should I feel bad about it? Do you think Fred has ever thought there's something wrong with him for liking Florence?" Marius counters. "It's just part of who I am."

"No, yeah, obviously," Eddie clumsily replies. _You're acting a total ass now_. "I just — well, never mind. Let's go join them upstairs, all right?"

There's a semblance of disappointment in Marius's face, and Eddie feels as though he has just been sucker-punched because of it. He fumbles with his backpack as soon as they get to the top floor, and leaves it by the doorway.

"I'll take the first shift," he says coyly. Marius just nods and follows Florence and Fred inside, and Eddie feels like pure garbage as he watches him go. He doesn't know how he feels, and he doesn't know _why_ he has chosen to feel like this during the _sodding Hunger Games_, but there really isn't anything he can do about it at this point. He is everything but awkward, and his social skills are usually impeccable — but there is something about Marius that makes him feel at a loss for words every single time, and he hates it and loves it at the same time.

He sighs quietly as he leans against the doorframe, observing the street underneath them through the window. He will have to wait and see.

* * *

**So! That was the Bloodbath. I'm not exactly happy of how it came out because I feel as though I suck at writing very fast-paced action, but I hope it isn't too bad for you guys. I really can't wait for you guys to see what's in store!**

**Fallen tributes so far:**

**24\. Sansa Winter (District 3) — tripped and fell to the ground before the countdown was over.**

**23\. Dorian Galter (District 8) — killed by Seamus during the Bloodbath.**

**22\. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6) — killed by Celeste during the Bloodbath.**

**21\. Casireida Lye (District 11) — killed by Mercia during the Bloodbath.**

**20\. Cain Lewis (District 11) — killed by Seamus during the Bloodbath.**

**19\. ****Elizabeth Starr (District 12) — killed by Mercia during the Bloodbath.**

**18\. Agnes Colman (District 9) — killed by Mercia during the Bloodbath.**

**Remaining alliances & tributes:**

**• Career Pack: Evander Luxx (D1M), Celeste Duval (D1F), Dorcas Findlay (D2F), Mercia Hollis (D4F), Seamus Hay (D12M).**

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M), Eddie Thame (D7M), Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M).**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M), Jonas Slaine (D5M), Ted Berninger (D9M).**

**• Kai Anderson (D4M), Drew Coleson (D6M), Emmaline MacArthur (D10F).**

**• Arya Wolf (D5F), Tee Reynolds (D8F).**

**So that's it for now! Seventeen to go and ready to fight their way back home. What will happen? Who will live? Who will die? *dramatic drumroll***

**Also, what do you guys think of the Arena? I've been toying around with this idea for a while now, and tbh I feel like it's got quite a lot of potential. But please do let me know what you guys think of it! **

**Sorry for the extremely long A/N — they'll be lengthier from now on, I suppose, because I want to keep track of the deaths and alliances in case anyone feels a little lost about either of them. And t****hat's about it for now, I think? ****S****ee you later, alligators — the following chapter should be up sometime next week, hopefully! Please do stay safe in the meantime, wash your hands, and try to make the most out of this odd experience that being quarantined is proving to be!**

**-s.**


	17. Day Two

**Day Two**

* * *

**Evander Luxx — 5:30 AM**

It is five in the morning, and Evander has not gotten a wink of sleep all night.

He is sitting next to a highly feverish Dorcas, whom he tucked into a sleeping bag the previous afternoon after she began to feel a little chilly around four in the afternoon, as a result of her wound getting infected. She has been tossing and turning all night, and he has not wanted to leave her alone with Mercia, Celeste or Seamus. The three of them are still fast asleep, unbothered by Dorcas's health — Mercia mumbled something about just killing her off to ease her going, and Celeste had simply nudged the girl reproachfully and told Evander to take care of her if he felt up to the task. He had cleaned her wound, sown it up as well as he could and bandaged it shortly after the Bloodbath was over, but it hasn't been enough. He feels her slipping away from him, and it breaks his heart to see his only morally decent ally go, but he is adamant about easing her passing as much as he can.

"Ander?"

He offers her an acknowledging nod and caresses her blond, almost white hair with a silent smile. Dorcas's hair was the first thing that caught Evander's attention when they first met — it was excruciatingly long and the fringe dangling on top of her eyebrows gave her a sort of dreamy look, which hasn't quite faded out in spite of Dorcas's current state. Her hair is up in a bun — reluctantly tied by Celeste when she mentioned that she was great at fashioning buns, with Seamus snickering around them all along — and her cheeks have turned a bright red because of the fever, but she still offers him one of her feeble smiles when she notices his gesture.

"I can't believe we're in Rome," she whispers. "Or a recreation of what it must have been before the Dark Days, anyway. Lorcan must be freaking out about it."

"I'm sure he is," Evander nods, offering her a half-smile. He has been thinking about his sister Emma a lot as of lately, wondering how she feels about the way he is dealing with everything that is happening to them. He has nearly made it past the first twenty-four hours of the Games, but he knows better than anyone that living past the Bloodbath doesn't mean a thing. Those who died within the first few minutes of the Games will lose exactly the same thing as the ones who come in fourth, third, or second even; they will cease to exist, and the world will forget about them in spite of President Heydrich's empty promises.

"He's such a good boy," Dorcas explains quietly before wiping some sweat off her forehead. "You remind me of him, actually. But you're nicer to people — he's a bit of a tough cookie, you see, but I know he loves me and that he'll become an excellent man eventually. He just needs to grow out of the herd mentality thing."

"Really?" Evander does a soft chuckle, and adds, "Emma's a little older than the two of us, but she really reminds me of you, too."

"Emma," Dorcas repeats, a soft smile on her face. "That's a sweet name. I bet she's a great girl."

"She's the best person I know," Evander replies. "She — well, she's pretty much taught me everything I know. She's intelligent, she's strong, and she somehow hasn't gotten tired of me after all these years." He finds himself laughing softly, wondering if his sister will ever get to hear his words. She must be asleep right now, but he silently hopes that someone will replay that fragment for her if he does not manage to go back. He wants her to know how much he loves her, and that their brief goodbye at the Justice Building did not feel authentic enough, surrounded by friends and family who had wanted to see him off, too. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about her or their friends back home, but all he wants to do right now is to somehow run away from the Hunger Games, just to hold her tightly and spend the afternoon gazing at the clear skies of District One from their garden, pointing out funny-shaped clouds like they did when they were children.

They _are_ still children, Evander realizes, even if the Capitol refuses to acknowledge their right to a peaceful transition from childhood to adulthood. Dorcas herself has only barely turned fourteen — what could she possibly be, if not a scared, confused child?

Dorcas reaches for his hand, and Evander gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, don't worry about me," she whispers. "I'm fine, all right? I want you to win this. You're the kindest person I've met ever since I got reaped, and I want you to promise me you're gonna fight and live through this and go give Emma a big hug from me once this is all over, all right?"

Evander gulps, feeling how she quietly slips away from him. Her hand is still in his, but it's becoming colder and paler with every second that goes by.

"I'll try my best," he promises. "But _you_ have to try your best too, please." Evander lowers his lips to Dorcas's ear and whispers, "I'd go nuts if I had to put up with those three _jerks_ entirely on my own."

Dorcas smirks quietly, but her laughter quickly dissolves into a fit of cough. Evander cringes, but keeps his face close to hers, closing his eyes as he waits for Dorcas's breathing to become steady again. But it never does, and he squeezes her hand again and again, almost demanding her to stay alive for him.

"Shit, this is really bad," she wheezes. Her bright green eyes meet Evander's, and she offers him one last half-smile before adding, "Thank you for staying up with me. You didn't have to."

"I _wanted _to," Evander corrects her, and there are tears in his eyes by now. "Please don't go."

But Dorcas doesn't reply, and when Evander looks up at her face again her bright green eyes are empty and lost; her lips, swollen and purplish, are parted in a question that Dorcas will never be able to deliver.

Evander curls into a ball next to her and closes his eyes as the tears begin to run down his cheeks, still holding Dorcas's hand firmly as the first streaks of sunlight grace his face, signalling the beginning of a new day without her in it.

* * *

**Milo Tesla — 8:20 AM**

Milo almost yelps in surprise when a firm hand wakes him up, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. He rubs his eyes and pushes his glasses up his nose, and grins in relief when he realizes that Ted Berninger is standing in front of him.

"Ted!" He exclaims, standing up to give the boy a warm hug — he is a few inches taller than Ted, which makes the scene all the more comical. When Ted winces in pain, Milo frowns and looks down at the bandage wrapped around his leg, already soaked in blood and a mucky white substance that makes Milo feel a little sick. "Shit! That looks pretty bad."

"It _is_ pretty bad," Ted agrees with a sad chuckle, before dropping onto the sleeping bag that Milo had been using until a second ago. "It took me all night to find you two. We said we'd meet by the closest source of water, didn't we?"

"Well, yeah," Milo replies, shrugging his shoulders and motioning towards the fountain in front of them. "_This_ was the first water source that we found."

"The nameplate says it's called the _Fontana di Trevi_!" Jonas offers brightly behind them. The boy is still wielding the knife that Milo gave him before he went to sleep, although they both knew that Jonas would never even hurt a fly — let alone an actual human being.

"What a funny little name," Milo muses to himself. He observes quietly as Jonas kneels in front of Ted and examines the profound gash in his upper thigh, cringing at the sight of the mucky white substance spurting out of it right after removing the dirty bandage that he has been wearing for the past twenty-four hours or so.

"Pus," Jonas mutters quietly. The boy has told Milo that both his parents are doctors back in District Five, and that he wanted to become one himself once he graduated, so he gathers that he has already helped them with their patients once or twice after school. "It _does_ look pretty bad, Ted. How did it happen?"

Milo cringes, because he suspects it might have something to do with Agnes — neither of them had seen what had happened to her in the Cornucopia, but Milo remembers the feeling of sheer dismay that rushed through his body when he saw the girl's face up in the sky the previous night. She had always been exceptionally kind and, above anything else, he knew how much she meant to Ted — he suddenly imagines how he would feel if he had gotten reaped with Hannah and was forced to watch her die at some bloodthirsty Career's hands, and he almost has to choke back a sob at the possibility of being in Ted's shoes right now. He might die within the next few days, but at least he knows that Hannah is safe and that she will never be alone, because his father and his sister Margot will always be there for her, even if he isn't.

He looks up at Ted, and his lips twitch into a sad smile when he notices the way pain seems to have been etched onto every single angle of his face.

"She — she tried to get a bow and arrow during the Bloodbath," he whispers, lowering his gaze. "She had gotten quite good at it, actually, she'd trained a lot and she had even mentioned the possibility of using one during the Games..." Ted pushes his specs up several times, his eyes filled with tears at this point. "But she couldn't, because Mercia slit her throat before she could even get her hands on the bow." He rubs his cheeks furiously and then hugs his knees, quietly burying his face into them. Jonas immediately wraps his arms around the boy, hugging him tight as his chin rests on the top of Ted's head. The gesture is surprisingly intimate, Milo notes, and he places a hand on Ted's shoulder and squeezes it gently before taking a seat next to the two of them.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ted," he mutters. He always feels extremely awkward whenever it comes to dealing with other people's emotions, but he somehow understands what Ted is currently going through. "I — I can't believe she's gone. She was such a bold human being, really."

"She was," Ted agrees quietly. A tear rolls down his cheek, and the boy takes his glasses off before furiously trying to rub it away. "Keeping her alive was the only reason I wouldn't give up on these bloody Games, and now — I don't know what to _do _without her."

"We'll be there for you, always," Jonas assures him. He sounds wise beyond his years right now, and there is little left of the naive boy who arrived at the Capitol only ten days ago. "We're going to help you and we're going to keep you safe for as long as we can. I'll try and sort something out if the sponsors send some medicine our way — and if they don't, well, I'll still take care of you anyway. I promise."

"Thanks, Jonas," Ted whispers, placing a gentle arm around the twelve-year-old's shoulders. He then looks at Milo and offers him a sad, wretched smile. "And thank you, too. I don't know what I'd do if I had to survive all on my own right now."

"Hey, that's all right," Milo replies, shrugging his shoulders casually. "We're here for you, buddy. We'll try our best, all right?"

Milo usually struggles at showing genuine physical affection towards people that he isn't extremely close with, but he finds himself hugging Ted and Jonas tightly for a good couple of minutes. He may have only known them for the past ten days, but the two boys have become the closest thing to a family that he has had ever since he left District Three — Milo isn't exactly great at making friends, and yet there's something about Jonas's bright smile and his relentless optimism that makes him feel like everything is going to be all right; Ted, on the other hand, offers him a peace and a sort of steadiness that only Hannah and his sister Margot had managed to inflict on him before. He genuinely loves the two of them, and he knows that he wants _them_ to win if he doesn't make it back. He hugs them tightly and even smiles a little when Jonas laughs because Milo's stubble is scratching his own cheek, and the three of them dissolve into a gentle but nevertheless calming fit of laughter that might even come off as odd to those watching them. But Milo couldn't care less right now, because the fact that his two allies — Hell, his two _friends_ — are still very much alive and sitting next to him is more than enough as of right now.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find some food now, all right?" Milo muses finally, letting go of Jonas and Ted very carefully. "We have small packets of dried goods inside our backpacks, but those won't last long, I think. I'll take a knife and see if I can find a stray rabbit or a couple of pigeons or something."

"A stray rabbit in the middle of the city?" Ted's eyebrows rise questioningly, but he finds himself shrugging in agreement to his friend's words. "All right, I suppose that won't hurt."

Jonas nods pensively, then touches his hand to Milo's elbow. "Here, let me show you something."

Milo frowns, but follows the boy back to the large fountain. Jonas casts a nervous glance back at Ted, who has laid down on the sleeping bag, already half asleep.

"The infection's _pretty_ bad," Jonas explains carefully. "I don't even know if it's gotten past his leg at this point, so there would be no point in amputating even if we had the resources to do so."

Milo sighs. He suspected that Ted's wound was pretty bad from the very beginning, but Jonas's diagnose makes his stomach churn in dismay anyway — because he now knows what comes next.

"So you're saying the only way we can help him is by making whatever time he has left as peaceful as possible, right?" He finally asks, his tone quivering at the idea of losing yet another friend. When Jonas nods quietly, Milo lowers his face and rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand, as though attempting to wipe the negative thoughts away. "I'm so _sick_ of this."

"This is how it's going to be from now on, Milo." Jonas's tone is too firm, too tarnished for a twelve-year-old. He places a hand on Milo's shoulder and squeezes it gently, like his father or his best friend Noah would. "We have to stay strong and take care."

Milo offers him a sad smile. There is nothing left of the young, innocent boy he met ten days ago, and he now realizes that he does not need to treat him like a child anymore — Jonas is his equal, and he is just as aware of the reality that they have been thrown into as Milo is. He doesn't need to sugarcoat things for him; rather, Jonas might have to soften his tone while addressing Ted's health while talking to him.

"Come on," Milo whispers finally, sobering up after the pensive intermission in their routine that this conversation has been. He offers Jonas a reassuring smile, then places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're doing great so far, Jo. Please take care of Ted while I'm away, will you?"

Jonas nods soberly, but offers him a hint of what might have been one of his luminous, whole-hearted smiles before the Games began.

"Sure thing," he agrees. "Take care, all right?"

"Always."

Milo almost grimaces when he lets go of Jonas's shoulder and the boy walks back to a fully asleep Ted, taking a seat next to the sleeping bag and observing the way their friend's chest moves up and down as he breathes.

He takes his glasses off, rubs his eyes with his fists once, then sets off to find something to eat for the three of them.

* * *

**Tee Reynolds — 1:00 PM**

"Great. Just fucking great," Arya mumbles as the two of them peer inside an abandoned ice cream parlour. "What're we supposed to do, live off ice cream for the next ten days?"

"I could think of worse things to do." Tee shrugs, the feeblest of smiles on her face. She has never dared to admit it out loud, but she always had a bit of a sweet tooth. "Anyway, it should at least provide some shelter if the Careers come looking for us, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Arya places her hand on top of the counter, squinting thoughtfully at the puddles of mucky liquid that must have once been solid, delicious-looking ice cream of at least a dozen different flavors. "All right, I suppose this will have to do."

Tee just slumps onto a chair and stares up at the ceiling. It is covered in spider webs and scraps of dust and dirt, but she likes it anyway — she hasn't always had a place to shelter herself in, and the prospect of not having to sleep in the streets of an abandoned city for the next few days _is _quite relieving after all. Not that she would have minded sleeping on a bench or hidden behind one of the luxurious fountains that adorn the square in front of them — Piazza Navona, she had read as they trotted in — but sleeping in the middle of nowhere during the Hunger Games is basically a death sentence, and they have both agreed to avoid it at all costs.

"I can't believe the Arena's a sodding _city_," Arya groans as she sets up what little possessions they have — a glass shard that Tee fashioned into a knife earlier that morning, and the remainders of a pigeon that they had hunted with it and had eaten for breakfast before getting to the _piazza_ — and then takes a seat in front of the cashier, toying with its buttons distractedly. "I mean, s'not like, a real inconvenience or anything since I spent most of my childhood running away from the Peacekeepers and I've always known my way around a city, but. It's still _so _weird. Plus, it's just gigantic, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tee nods quietly, crossing her arms. She gets along with Arya fairly well, but she can sometimes be a little annoying — especially when she completely forgets that Tee, in spite of being three years younger than her, has also lived in the streets for most of her teenage life. "It's like one of those ancient cities that existed before the Districts were created."

"I don't know, I never really went to school," Arya explains, before popping one of the slices of raw pigeon meat into her mouth. When Tee raises an eyebrow at her, she just shrugs and smirks a little. "I was hungry, all right? Don't try to patronize me _all the time_, Jesus Christ."

Tee rolls her eyes, but ultimately decides to ignore Arya's comment. She now realizes that their personalities are too similar and that their alliance is bound to collapse sooner than later, but she gathers that it would be wiser to try and keep it alive, at least during the very first days of the Hunger Games. She can always get rid of her while she's asleep — if the asshole doesn't get herself killed before it comes to that, Tee tells herself with a snort.

Arya frowns at her. "What?"

Tee just shrugs and offers her ally an ambiguous smile. "Oh, nothing. It's just that you probably shouldn't go around eating raw meat — in case it's poisonous, or the animal had been infected by some sort of parasite before we killed it. I figured you'd know that from living in the street."

"I might have lived in the streets, but I never ate _fucking pigeons_," Arya counters defensively. "We stole things from the market or earned money and bought food from the smugglers. My friend Will is a bus driver, you know — we're not a bunch of scoundrels if that's what you think."

"A bunch of scoundrels," Tee echoes, shaking her head a little. "There's _nothing_ wrong with being a scoundrel, Arya. In fact, the _real_ scoundrels are those who wear tuxedoes and high heels back in the Capitol — haven't you noticed?"

Arya chuckles. "Yeah, I s'pose you're right. You're smart for a twelve-year-old, honestly."

Tee frowns, her brow creasing quietly as she leans backwards on her chair. "I _told_ you not to assume anything just because I'm younger than you."

Arya's hands fly up defensively, in a clearly condescending gesture. "All right, all right. Don't be such a _child_ about it."

Tee clenches her fist, but ultimately decides against engaging into a fight with her only ally. They have only been together for approximately thirty hours and they are already at each other's throats — Tee can't _wait_ to see what might happen within the next few days.

"All right, I'm gonna go find some supplies now," she announces after a short while, and raises her index finger when Arya opens her mouth, adding, "I don't need your permission, remember? I'll be back before dusk."

Arya just lets out a sigh and nods, and Tee offers her something like a smile before picking up the knife that she had fashioned out of some broken glass earlier that day. _She_ will be the one to keep it at all times from now on, and she makes a mental note to save at least a twenty percent of whatever she can get ahold of and hide it elsewhere, in case Arya oversteps again.

"Age before beauty, my ass," she mumbles under her breath as she exits the ice cream parlour, grinning to herself as the hot, exasperatingly bright rays of the midday sun hit her face with the promise of an entire afternoon away from her only ally.

* * *

**Kai Anderson — 5:00 PM**

They have known each other for over a week now, but Kai still can't decide if he trusts Drew Coleson at all.

He observes the boy quietly as Emmaline picks up some berries in front of them. They made a run for it as soon as the first cannon struck, and Drew didn't even look back when he realized that Anouk was not following them anymore — Celeste had aimed a knife at her and it had perforated her lower back, sending her to the ground in a fit of spasms and choked blood. Kai had looked back in horror as his two allies kept running, each of them carrying a backpack and a set of knives, and momentarily wondered if they would react in a similar way if _he_ was ever attacked by the Careers like that. He knows that Drew has known Anouk all his life and, although he did sigh glumly when the girl's face appeared on the sky the previous night, he doesn't seem to feel all too bothered by her loss. There's something about him that simply doesn't click, and Kai wants to figure him out more than anything else right now.

"Look, guys! This one's totally edible," Emmaline exclaims merrily as she takes a handful of berries from the bush. "Our family orchard is surrounded by this type of bushes, and me and my brother used to pick them up around this season when we were little and made jam with them right afterwards."

"That does sound pretty delicious to me," Drew agrees, flashing a loving smile at the girl. Kai frowns; he feels very strongly for Emmaline, and he doesn't think Drew's feelings for her are half as genuine as his.

"I'll keep them inside the plastic lunchbag, all right?" Emmaline's backpack included a lunchbox full of bacon, hard-boiled eggs, and baked beans, and it had served as their breakfast earlier that day. She now places several handfuls of berries inside of it, and closes it again before looking up at Kai and offering him a bright smile. "Found anything useful, Kai?"

"Uh, not really," he mumbles. He has never been great at picking fruit, simply because most of the people from his District lived off coconuts and bananas as the only fruits they could afford, since the rest of them were all imported from other Districts and Kai's family had never been able to afford buying him or his siblings a box of strawberries, oranges, or even plain green apples.

"Don't worry!" Emmaline replies encouragingly. Kai smiles at the gesture — it's ridiculous, the way he has just _fallen_ for her when she doesn't even seem to like him that way, but he relishes on the feeling at the bottom of his stomach for a few seconds before inspecting the bushes in front of him again.

They bumped into the massive garden that they are currently inspecting right after lunch; after arriving to a large square surrounded by ancient churches, the three of them had decided that it would be best to climb up a hill that laid behind the conglomerate of churches, since it would be easier to spot their rivals from there. The garden, majestic and perhaps even a little lavish, was full of bushes and trees with fruit ripe enough for them to live off it for the next few days, which was absolutely enthralling to both Emmaline and Drew but somehow threw Kai a little off.

"These ones look pretty nice, too!" Drew says, showing them a handful of bright red berries. "We could snack on these for a bit."

"Nah, I'm good," Emmaline says with a dismissive wave of her hand, and then saunters off to inspect an orange tree a few feet away from them. "I'm gonna go pick some oranges, all right? We could even try and make some juice by pressing them later."

"Sure," Kai nods. He feels extremely awkward at the way things just seem to _flow_ between Drew and Emmaline, always feeling slightly out of place whenever they lock eyes and beam at each other — he _knows _they must have shared at least a kiss before the Games, or perhaps during their shared shift as Kai rested the previous night, but neither of them seems to acknowledge it. He just offers Drew an awkward smile and nods before accepting a handful of his berries, trying to remind himself that he shouldn't act _this_ obsessively around a girl that he hardly knows and a boy who has been nothing but kind to him over the past few days.

"Thanks," Kai grins at Drew before thrusting pretty much the entire handful of berries into his mouth, marvelling at the way his tastebuds explode at the sweet and savory taste of the fruit. Emmaline waves at them, hanging from a tree branch, and they both grin back in response, with Drew even laughing a little and calling her 'Emmonkey' or some other cute nickname that sounds hilarious to Kai all of a sudden.

He begins to feel a little dizzy, so he places a hand on Drew's shoulder, offering the boy an apologetic smile; Drew just nods understandingly and lays him down on the ground, with Emmaline too entranced in her newfound hobby to notice what is going on between her two allies. Kai closes his eyes and does a wholehearted grin, thinking of Caido not as the dead corpse that he retrieved from the beach but as the bold, imaginative nine-year-old that he was before passing away; thinking of the beaches of District Four, thinking of the way he would love to show them to Emmaline once this is all over.

His heart stops beating a few seconds later, and the smile never quite leaves Kai's face after that.

* * *

**Welp, I myself didn't see that coming — it sort of happened? I _had_ always planned for Kai to die, but the idea of having Drew kill him came entirely out of the blue honestly. But! Yeah, I hope you guys enjoyed all the little plot twists in this chapter. I really wanna know what your predictions are & how you feel about the Games so far! :D**

**Fallen tributes so far:**

**24\. Sansa Winter (District 3)**

**23\. Dorian Galter (District 8)**

**22\. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6)**

**21\. Casireida Lye (District 11) **

**20\. Cain Lewis (District 11)**

**19\. ****Elizabeth Starr (District 12)**

**18\. Agnes Colman (District 9)**

**17\. Dorcas Findlay (District 2)**

**16\. Kai Anderson (District 4)**

**Remaining alliances & tributes:**

**• Career Pack: Evander Luxx (D1M), Celeste Duval (D1F), Mercia Hollis (D4F), Seamus Hay (D12M).**

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M), Eddie Thame (D7M), Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M).**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M), Jonas Slaine (D5M), Ted Berninger (D9M).**

**• Drew Coleson (D6M), Emmaline MacArthur (D10F).**

**• Arya Wolf (D5F), Tee Reynolds (D8F).**

**So that's that! Next chapter should be up in like a week tops, as I'm already working on it. This is getting _eggsiting_, guys!**

**-s.**


	18. Day Three

**Day Three**

* * *

**Florence Maugham — 11:30 AM**

There's something about the Arena that still intrigues her, even after having trodden through it for the past three days. She knows curiosity is not exactly an appropriate feeling for someone whose life is in constant threat, but she feels rather protected by her three allies and, in all honesty, she hasn't quite wrapped her head around the fact that they're in the Hunger Games, being broadcast on live television to their entire country. She doesn't realize that her family and friends have actually seen every single kiss she has shared with Fred ever since they were thrown into the Arena, and she still grabs his hand and kisses his cheek every now and then not because she intends to show off, but simply because she simply cannot give up the physicality that had defined their relationship prior to the Games. She knows that Fred is a lot more self-conscious than she is, and that he sometimes even feels a little uncomfortable whenever they get too intimate, and she doesn't want their last days together to go without him feeling at perfect ease around her. Because she might feel as though they're on some sort of field trip with Eddie and Marius instead of fighting for their lives, but she _does_ know that there is no way they will make it out together like Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark did. Plenty of people have tried to pass as starcrossed lovers ever since their Games, and the Capitol simply doesn't buy it anymore — Florence's love for Fred is as genuine as nothing else quite is in her life anymore, and because of that she would never even think of using him to gain sponsors.

Whatever has to happen will happen, she tells herself in a rather assertive way, and she would very much rather spend what little time they have left together in a peaceful, quiet, and almost platonic sort of relationship instead of trying to exploit it to get a free meal or two from a hyperfixated sponsor.

"Hey," Fred nudges her quietly, tilting his head towards Eddie and Marius ever so lightly. The two of them have been trying to start a fire for the past half hour or so, and, as far as Florence can tell, they haven't achieved much just yet. "Do you think they're — you know, _flirting_?"

Florence has to hold back a snort before shaking her head a little. Fred is an extremely intelligent young man, but he can be quite thick when it comes to matters of the heart.

"They've been flirting for like, the past two weeks or so." Fred's eyebrows rise in surprise, and she can't help but laugh at the expression on his face. "Please don't tell me you hadn't noticed until now."

"I just thought they were... well, pals, that's it." Fred shrugs, eyeing them quietly. He then raises his hands defensively when he realizes that Florence is glaring at him. "Not that I care, of course! I'm not — look, you know I'm more than okay with that sort of stuff, don't you?"

Florence's expression softens, because Fred did tell her all about his older brother and the way his parents had kicked him out of the house when they found out he was in a relationship with their father's assistant, and that Fred and his little brother Ezra missed him every day. Florence tries to imagine how her parents would react if they ever found themselves in a situation like that one — they wouldn't understand, of course, because openly queer people aren't exactly common in District Seven, but she figures that they would ultimately understand and love them anyway. She couldn't imagine them kicking her or any of her siblings out for loving whoever they please, and she wishes Fred's parents would see that, too. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and nods, quietly apologizing for what she has just implied.

"I know, don't worry." She presses a soft kiss to his cheek, knowing that a full one on the lips would be too much for him right now, and then offers him a small smile. "Wanna help me get the chicken ready?"

Fred's expression softens, too, and his hand lingers at the edge of Florence's neck as he plays with a small strand of her baby hairs before nodding. "It's just a bunch of pigeon meat, but all right."

Florence smacks his arm playfully. "Hey! It's more than I'd expected, honestly. Thank God Marius figured out that we could fashion a slingshot out of that piece of wood that we found yesterday."

"He's as sharp as a tack, that one," Fred chuckles, nodding, then lowers his tone and adds, "But seriously, are they... well, a _thing_? I don't think I've ever seen them, you know, hold hands or kiss or anything."

"That's because they're not privileged enough to show physical affection on live television," Florence explains, before slicing the pigeon breast into smaller stripes that will be easier to cook later. She raises her index finger when Fred opens his mouth, adding, "I don't mean economic or social privilege, Fred. _We're_ privileged because we get to like each other and kiss and be together without anyone questioning if it's right. Some weirdo from District Two may get angry at seeing them kiss or even hold hands just because they're two boys instead of a boy and a girl; they're just being cautious in case the Capitol comes back at them for showing how they feel about each other."

Fred nods, and ultimately does a half-smile. "I didn't take you for someone so... _politically inclined_, Florence Maugham."

She just chuckles before handing him the strips of raw chicken, winking an eye at him. "I just have a strong sense of justice, I guess."

"And I fully support that," Fred agrees, smiling brightly. Florence just loves the way his entire face lights up whenever he momentarily forgets about the Games, about the fact that a bunch of teenagers are out there and ready to kill them, about the possibility of their days being limited. He simply grins and even whoops a little when Eddie dramatically announces that the fire is ready, and stacks the strips of pigeon breast neatly before carrying them to the small piece of wood that they are using as a tray.

"All right, all right," Eddie says, rubbing his hands with an enthusiastic smile as the strips of meat begin to sizzle on top of the tray. "This is going to be one helluva meal, guys!"

"We'll have to go hunting again later today," Marius advises, then looks at Florence, "Could you two take care of that during your shift?"

"Yeah, sure," Florence immediately agrees, enjoying the prospect of having some alone time with Fred later that day. "We'll try and find some fruit or something, too."

"Or something," Fred echoes playfully, earning himself a playful smack on the elbow. "Come on! We're in the middle of the city, you District Seven forest fairy."

The four of them laugh at once, and Florence can't help but grin at the way Eddie rests a feeble hand on Marius's shoulder as they sit together around the small fire that they have managed to ignite.

A fire that will be put out by the Capitol sooner than later, but a fire that will burn on inside them for whatever time they have left nevertheless.

* * *

**Arya Wolf — 1:40 PM**

God, Tee exhausts her sometimes.

Perhaps they're too alike. She thought that a kindred spirit would come in handy as an ally, but the truth is that the girl annoys her beyond her wits most of the time. She's feisty, demanding, hot-headed, and too determined — Arya knows that they aren't precisely supposed to slack around, but having a twelve-year-old tell her what to do at all times feels even more annoying than being commanded by someone older than her. Arya has always been a deeply individualistic person, and she has been contemplating whether she should kill her only ally for the past couple of days or so. But she has finally decided against it — the girl might come in handy somehow, and she could always just thrust her at the Careers if they happen to bump into them at a certain time.

That doesn't keep her from scowling as soon as she realizes that there is _absolutely nothing_ that she can hunt near the ice cream parlour where the two of them settled down the previous day.

"Not a single fucking pigeon," she curses under her breath. Will would know what to do, she tells herself miserably. Tessa would find berries or small fruits somehow and turn them into a surprisingly fancy salad, and Jem — Jem would just _be _there with them and light up their moods by telling a few jokes and kissing Arya's head like he used to do when they were little.

She clicks her tongue, because she has always told herself that she would _never_ become the sentimental type, but she can't help but feel terribly homesick at the thought of what Will and Tessa may be doing right now. They don't own a television set, but she knows that the Hunger Games are being broadcast pretty much everywhere; and so she finds herself secretly wishing that they're watching her right now and rooting for her. They _are_ the only family that she has ever had, after all, and their support means the world to her.

She is so caught up in her own thoughts that she forgets her surroundings for a second, and when she comes back to reality it is much too late, with her feet landing _exactly_ on the wrong paving stone.

* * *

**Jonas Slaine — 1:50 PM**

"Shit, what was that?"

There has just been an explosion somewhere nearby, but Jonas is too focused on Ted to care about it right now. His ally — his _friend_ — has been running a fever for the past couple of days, and he seems to have contracted some sort of pneumonia that makes it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Jonas has tried everything — he has dutifully cleaned the wound on his thigh and given him as many herbal remedies as he could, sending Milo to fetch more fruit and herbs every couple of hours, but there is nothing he can do now. His friend is dying, and Jonas can only sit and watch.

Ted offers the twelve-year-old a sad smile before squeezing his tinier, paler hand.

"It's all right, kiddo," he croaks between coughs. "Thank you. You've taken real good care of me — Agnes would be really proud."

Jonas has been telling himself not to cry for over a day now, but his eyes well up at the thought of Ted's inevitable death anyway.

"Please don't go," he whispers finally, knowing that crying and begging isn't exactly what a doctor would do in his situation. But he isn't a doctor, after all — he is just a twelve-year-old boy whose life is being cut short by the Hunger Games, and Ted's death is only making him realize how close his own death may be. "Please, just stay with us for a little longer."

"Let him rest, Jo," Milo says, placing a gentle hand on Jonas's shoulder. "He's fought a lot already — let's cut him some slack, all right?"

Jonas nods quietly, sniffling and rubbing his eyes furiously. Milo wraps an arm around his shoulders and hugs him tightly, and Ted manages a feeble smile before squeezing both of their hands — the three of them, together, have managed to survive for nearly three days, and that is already more than Jonas had originally expected.

"At least you two will be one step closer to winning," Ted croaks, a sad expression on his face. "Milo — try and make it back, all right? For Hannah, and for little Margot. And Jonas — you're one hell of a doctor, I promise. Please take care of as many people as you can, and be kind. Always. You'll go far, and I'm sure your parents and little Queenie are extremely proud of you right now for taking care of me all these days."

Jonas closes his eyes and lets two silent tears roll down his cheeks before hugging Ted tightly.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save you," he whispers. He feels Milo's careful hand on his shoulder, but he refuses to let go just yet. "I wish you and Agnes could stay with us forever."

"We'll all be fine, Jonas," Ted mutters, before letting out a wheezy cough. He slowly lets go of the boy's hand before closing his eyes, in an almost peaceful way. "We'll all be fine in the end."

Jonas lets out a choked sob when he realizes that Ted's heart has stopped beating, and the sound of the cannon signaling his friend's death only makes him feel more broken inside.

* * *

**Mercia Hollis — 7:30 PM**

"All right, all right," Mercia lets out a soft chuckle, nudging Seamus with an amused expression. "What should we do now, eh?"

"Let's go hunting for a bit, shall we?" Seamus offers, a sneaky smile on his face.

Celeste and Evander have stayed behind to take care of their campsite inside the Colosseum, and the two of them are technically in charge of scouting for any possible threats that may be lurking around the city. Evander and Celeste did something similar the previous day, but they came back empty-handed — they must have bumped into someone, Mercia tells herself, but Evander's too much of a crybaby to kill another tribute in cold blood anyway. Celeste has a more reckless side to her, but Evander appears to have become the little brother she never had, acting all protective around him and defending him whenever Mercia or Seamus even dreamt of reprimanding him, especially after Dorcas's death. The boy has been acting a little grim as of lately, and he even confronted Seamus earlier that day because of how he kept mocking Dorcas's wimps of pain right before she passed away, and Mercia knows she should trust them more than a lunatic from District Twelve, but she also happens to regard them as _a bit dull_ in terms of what Careers are generally like.

"Hunting it is, then," Mercia flashes a smile, not at Seamus but at the city in general, and takes one of her knives out in anticipation. "I can't believe we haven't killed anyone since the Bloodbath — we're, like, the shittiest Careers ever."

"Trust me, if it were up to me — I'd just ditch the Cornucopia and go on a fucking killing rampage if I could," Seamus chuckles. Mercia only side-eyes him; she likes his ruthlessness, but she doesn't love the way he acts like a _fucking weirdo_ about pretty much everything else. She likes having him as an ally, but at the same time she would never even dream of trusting him. That's precisely why she always sleeps with her knife underneath her hand, just in case he — the _freak_, like Celeste nicknamed him soon after he joined the Career pack — decides it's high time for him to kill his allies and go on a murder spree before crowning himself Victor of the 100th Hunger Games.

"Fuck _me_! Is that an actual fire?"

Mercia looks up and observes the very column of smoke that Seamus has just detected in the twilight sky, letting out a hearty laugh when she realizes that they might have just found their first victim.

"Let's go," she commands, following the distant scent of smoke that fills her nostrils all of a sudden. The idea of finally putting her skills to some use makes her feel excited and even a little giddy, and the grin on her face broadens as they approach the source of the smoke.

She abruptly comes to a halt when she spots two human figures sitting around a small fire, and motions for Seamus, a few steps behind her, to do the same. They hide behind a building, scrutinizing the two tributes who have been daft enough to start a fire in the middle of the night — she grins when she realizes that it's none other than the boys from Two and Seven. She has been _dying_ to kill them ever since she saw the way they looked at each other back in the Training Center — Mercia has always felt a deep hatred towards queer people, and she had openly rejected Marius's presence in the Career pack from the very beginning because of it. It irked her to think that the boy was _different_, and she didn't want the sponsors to think that they condoned such an abnormal behavior by accepting him into the alliance — that was why they had recruited Seamus instead.

"So, what do we do?" The boy whispers behind him.

"Kill 'em both, obviously," Mercia replies, a wolfish smile on her face. "Their allies must be somewhere close, but getting rid of these two will suffice for the time being, I think. I doubt they'll come back once they hear the cannons, anyway."

"All right." Seamus squints at the boys for a second, then finally adds, "Hold on — what if we knock the guy from Two unconscious and kill the other one? He deserves to suffer. I've always hated him, that one."

"Yeah, me too," Mercia agrees. She considers Seamus's words for a second — not killing Marius straightaway might give him the possibility of running away or even murdering them once he comes back to his senses, but the idea of taking him back to the Cornucopia and torturing him for a bit happens to be quite appealing as well. It could earn them more sponsors, and putting on a good show is, after all, their first duty as Careers.

She offers her ally a devilish smile, silently showing her agreement to his plan. Seamus grins back, his expression a darkly twisted one, and he takes his knife out before whispering, "I'll aim a knife at the kid from Seven. You take care of the other one, all right?"

Mercia nods, and takes a brief second to observe their two preys. They look so relaxed, so effortlessly _into_ each other — Mercia nearly cringes when she notices the way Marius's hand is casually resting on top of Eddie's as they share an apparently amusing conversation. She just grumbles and tilts her head towards them, as though telling Seamus that she's ready. The boy grins and, when their victims are too busy laughing together about something that Marius just said, he aims and thrusts his knife in Eddie's direction, hitting square on the boy's chest.

Mercia almost laughs at the way Marius's face distorts in surprise and fear when he realizes what is going on, but by the time he manages to take it all in Mercia has already kicked him hard on the head, knocking him unconscious next to the fire. Eddie, crying and dumbly trying to contain the blood pouring out of the gash in his chest, looks at them both in sheer horror.

"Please, please," he just whines, observing Marius's unconscious body lying next to his. He must think the other boy is dead, Mercia realizes with delight, and she even cackles when Seamus presses his knife deeper inside Eddie's chest, making the boy scream out in pain. Mercia hears the sound of something being dropped nearby, and she gathers that Eddie's allies must be somewhere close — she would have typically left Seamus to kill the boy and go hunt them, but the scene is much too delightful for her to consider leaving it to prey on a couple half-starved kids who will die within the next few days anyway.

She side-eyes Marius, who still looks completely unconscious, and nudges Seamus before saying, "Go tie him up."

Seamus grumbles in discontent. "_I _aimed my knife at that one. _I _get to finish him off, understood?"

"All right, all right," Mercia lets out an exasperated sigh, handing Seamus the rope. "Go tie him up and _then_ you can finish the other one off. I'll take care of him in the meantime."

Seamus fumbles with the rope for a few seconds, but ultimately nods and kneels down to tie Marius's hands and feet. He's smaller and thinner than Seamus, so Mercia gathers that she should be able to talk her ally into carrying him all the way back to the Cornucopia — she might be an extremely talented killer, but she isn't exactly _strong_. In the meantime, she squats down to meet Eddie's blurred eyes and offers him a devilish smile before playfully clutching Seamus's knife in her hands, slowly taking it out of the wound in his chest. The boy winces in pain, but he looks too exhausted to properly scream like he did before.

"So! Good news, baby boy," she announces in a chirpy, casual voice, and offers him an oddly bright smile. "Your boyfriend's not dead. My buddy Seamus here is tying him up because we're gonna take him back with us to the Cornucopia, kick him around for a bit, _then_ kill him. What do you think, Seven? Do you think that's enough punishment for a fag like him?" Eddie gulps, but says nothing. Mercia lets out a laugh, and she even pats Eddie's shoulder condescendingly. "Nah, I don't suppose you do."

Eddie spits at her square in the face, and Mercia almost lets out a scream herself when she feels the boy's condensed saliva against her nose. She hastily wipes her face, her expression a clearly disgusted one, and then slaps the boy hard across the face, like an outraged girlfriend would.

"Fuck you," Eddie whispers, before wincing in pain yet again. "You're _never_ gonna win."

"Oh, but I will." Mercia offers him a condescending smile, and looks up at Seamus when she feels his hand on her shoulder. "Two's ready? Well, feel free to finish this one off, then."

Seamus grins, and Mercia instinctively backs away and gives him some space. There's a deranged gleam in his eyes that scares her a little — she seldom notices those sort of things in other people, but the way Seamus's entire expression seems to light up at the prospect of killing disturbs her like nothing else quite can. She shuffles away from Eddie's convulsing body, and eyes Marius carefully. The side of his head is bleeding severely from the kick that knocked him out, but Mercia knows from her training days that he will be fine — if anything, he will wake up in a few hours feeling a little dizzy, but she will take care of that later on.

"You'll never win," Eddie croaks again before closing his eyes.

"Shut the fuck up," Seamus grumbles, an entranced smile on his face has he takes his knife and places its blade against Eddie's neck, savoring every second of the much too normalized act of killing.

Mercia almost closes her eyes when Seamus slices Eddie's throat wide open. Almost.

* * *

**All right, hope that wasn't too over-the-top. I honestly really enjoyed writing this chapter for some reason? I hope that doesn't sound too sick lmao anyway please let me know what you think & who you're rooting for! I can't believe we're halfway-ish through the Games already omg. Anyway! I hope you're all safe & healthy, please wash your hands, keep social distance and whatnot, and feel free to shoot me a PM if you ever feel like it! Thanks a ton to those of you who have stuck to this story from the very beginning, and thank you to those who have tagged along later on! Your reviews always make my day, I promise. :)**

**Fallen tributes so far:**

**24\. Sansa Winter (District 3)**

**23\. Dorian Galter (District 8)**

**22\. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6)**

**21\. Casireida Lye (District 11)**

**20\. Cain Lewis (District 11)**

**19\. ****Elizabeth Starr (District 12)**

**18\. Agnes Colman (District 9)**

**17\. Dorcas Findlay (District 2)**

**16\. Kai Anderson (District 4)**

**15\. Arya Wolf (District 5)**

**14\. Ted Berninger (District 9)**

**13\. Eddie Thame (District 7)**

**Remaining alliances & tributes:**

**• Career Pack: Evander Luxx (D1M), Celeste Duval (D1F), Mercia Hollis (D4F), Seamus Hay (D12M).**

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M).**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M), Jonas Slaine (D5M).**

**• Drew Coleson (D6M), Emmaline MacArthur (D10F).**

**• Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M).**

**• Tee Reynolds (D8F).**


	19. Day Four

**Day Four**

* * *

**Emmaline MacArthur — 5:00 AM**

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Drew really killed Kai on purpose, didn't he?

Emmaline racks her brain as she lies next to the boy, eyeing him from time to time. She should be asleep, resting and gaining strength for the day that is now about to begin, but she hasn't been able to stop thinking about Kai ever since he dropped dead in those gardens where they spent their first couple of days in the Arena. Drew had put on a mortified face and cried about how he genuinely had no idea the berries were poisonous, and Emmaline had believed him at first — they had cried together, kissed his limp body goodbye and spent the rest of the day in a silent, mournful attitude together. But there is something about the way Drew behaves now that makes Emmaline feel suspicious to a certain degree — she remembers learning about berries and other poisonous foods back in the Training Center, and she is almost _certain_ that Drew was with her that day.

Her face contorts in disgust when Drew tosses and turns, and ends up placing an arm around her waist.

It's not like she never harbored feelings for him. She liked him well enough from the first time they met, all handsome and tall and charismatic — Hell, they even made out in the middle of a private training session before the Games began — but she has always known, deep down, that there was something odd about him; she doesn't want to be conceited or to think like the rich girl she actually is, but she is beginning to feel that Drew's background has made him a lot tougher than she thought him to be at first. It is undeniable that there has always been chemistry between them; while Kai was always more like a sibling to her, there was something undeniably physical, almost animal, that attracted her to Drew. But she has not felt an ounce of the electricity that rushed through her whenever Drew was around ever since Kai died, almost as though he had taken her capability of desiring other people with him. She knows she has been toying around with both of them ever since they first met, and an undeniable sense of guilt is now overcoming her as she realizes that perhaps, if she hand't led Kai on, he would still be alive and safe, because Drew would have never deemed him a threat.

But _why_ had Drew thought of Kai as a threat, though? They were supposed to be allies, the three of them — Hell, the _four_ of them, since Emmaline and Kai had agreed that Anouk could tag along if she wanted to. She never really trusted the girl anyway and her death wasn't an awful loss to her, but she had expected Drew to act a little more upset about it — he had simply shrugged Anouk's death off with one of his witty remarks, just like he did right after Kai died. Granted, he had pretended to mourn his loss for a bit, but something changed all of a sudden when they woke up the following morning — the boy had simply grinned at her and planted a kiss on her lips, like they were a couple on vacation instead of a pair of tributes who had just lost their other two allies in a little over twenty-four hours, with one of them being someone that Drew had known since he was a toddler. Emmaline can't quite put her finger on it just yet, but she _knows _that there is something odd going on inside Drew's head — and she is determined to find out what it is.

"Drew?" Her voice comes out in a soft, almost mellifluous tone, poking his side as she speaks. "Drew, we'd better wake up."

"Hm?" Drew cracks an eye open, and offers her what intends to be a loving smile; it only makes Emmaline's stomach churn in disgust at the thought of what Nolan, Jocelyn and Jackson may be thinking of her right now. "Morning."

She offers him a quaint smile, but rolls away before he can give her a kiss. "I think we should split up for a bit today. We're almost out of food, and we can't stay here forever — we'll have to go back to the Cornucopia eventually."

"Why can't we, though?" Drew chuckles, placing his hands underneath his head and smiling brightly at the sunrise in front of them. "We've plenty of fruit and berries, there aren't any mutts around, and you look absolutely stunning against the sunrise — why should we go back to all that?"

"Because acting all lovey-dovey here while other people die isn't exactly realistic," Emmaline blurts, which makes Drew frown. She just shrugs her shoulders and adds, "Don't get me wrong, I _love_ being here — but they'll send mutts or other tributes or something eventually if we don't go back ourselves. The Arena is pretty huge this year, and I'm sure they'll do something to prevent us from scattering around and, well, not killing each other like we're supposed to."

Drew's lips have turned into a thin, somewhat angry line, but he eventually nods in agreement.

"You're probably right," he says, leaning forward before inspecting the contents of his backpack. "We should try and hunt down a couple of tributes, right? That'll probably earn us a sponsor or two."

Emmaline's ears go pink at the possibility of murdering someone, feeling an instant lump in her throat. She knows that she is _supposed_ to kill people in order to make it back, but she would never actually seek to do so unless it was totally necessary — hunting people down was something that only the Careers would normally do, and she has never wanted to be like them, not at all. She observes the amused expression on Drew's face as he toys around with the pocket knife that he found inside his backpack on their first day, realizing all of a sudden that she doesn't know her only ally _at all_.

"Well, yeah, I don't think I'm really up for that right now," she finally mumbles, before slinging her backpack onto her shoulder. "I'll just go fetch some food instead, I suppose."

"Is everything all right, Em?"

She almost cringes at the way Drew's tone inflicts to a more concerned one. He would have made one hell of an actor, she tells herself, and only offers him a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek in response. She feels dirty in doing so, but she also happens to know that putting on a show for just a little longer is exactly what she needs to do right now — even if it costs her Nolan's trust, or the possibility of building a life with him if she ever makes it back.

She offers him the brightest smile she can muster, and pats his cheek quietly before adding, "I'll see you later, all right?"

Drew just stares at her longingly, and ultimately nods in agreement.

"All right — see you later." Emmaline has no idea whether he genuinely feels something for her, or if he is simply pulling an act like he probably did with Kai before he murdered him. A shiver runs down her spine as the boy presses a kiss to her cheek, and she backs away as soon as she can.

"Take care," she whispers, perhaps a little too distractedly. Drew must already know that something is going on with her from the perpetual distraught expression on her face, but Emmaline simply hopes he doesn't have it in him to kill her just yet. She closes her eyes, silently praying for him not to toss the knife at her, and ultimately lets out a sigh of relief when she finds herself out of Drew's earshot, squatting down for a second as she covers her face with her hands.

She does not know what the future holds for her, but she _definitely_ knows that she is never coming back to him.

* * *

**Seamus Hay — 10:00 AM**

He offers Marius a devilish smile as soon as the boy cracks an eye open, closely followed by a swift blow to his side that makes Marius wince in pain.

"What the — " Marius begins, but Mercia soon takes over and punches him square in the face, too.

"Good morning, asshole," she replies in a sing-song voice, offering him a somewhat deranged smile. Seamus can't help but grin, too — he has been looking forward to this moment ever since he and Mercia came up with their little plan the previous night.

"What _is _this?" Marius manages to spit out, his eyes already swollen and his upper lip bleeding profusely. He frowns at them, visibly furious; almost in a demanding way, Seamus tells himself with a snicker, because District Two kids are used to always getting what they want. He will show him right, he tells himself as he places himself in front of the boy.

"Well, you know," he begins, a mischievous smile on his face. "We found you and your _boyfriend_ yesterday, and at first we thought we'd just kill you straightaway — but what fun would that have been? So we decided to bring you back for some good auld torturin' before we finish you off."

"Yes, exactly," Mercia agreed next to him. Marius's expression had immediately shifted to a horrified one; Seamus even laughed out loud at the way he winced in pain when he found himself unable to crinkle his eyes without making the bleeding worse.

"I can offer you nothing," he mutters finally, a defeated edge to his words. "I don't know what you want, or what you did to Eddie and Florence and Fred, but _please_ finish me off if that's all you want."

"Eddie! That's your boyfriend, innit?" Seamus let out a laugh before shaking his head quietly. "Nah, we don't _need _you, Two. That's not why we brought you here. But this friend of mine right here," one of his knives gleamed as he held it in his right hand, and pressed it firmly against Marius's cheek, "This friend of mine wanted to meet you before you passed away — and I just couldn't deny him the pleasure, you know."

He sliced a clean cut right through Marius's cheek, which made the boy howl in pain yet again. Mercia laughed behind him, clapping and taunting Marius constantly; Celeste and Evander, standing behind them, just frowned in disagreement. While Celeste would have been more than happy to finish the boy off herself if it meant being one death closer to becoming this year's Victor, Seamus isn't entirely sure what Evander's stance would be on it — he is the only member of the Career pack who hasn't killed any tributes yet, and Seamus has openly begun to question his relevance as a member of the alliance. He may be strong, and his survival skills may be excellent, but he has been virtually _useless _to them most of the time, at least in Seamus's opinion.

"Just leave him alone and kill him if that's what you want to do," the boy mutters behind him, shrugging his shoulders quietly.

"Shut up, kid," Seamus snarls in return. "_This_ is what we're supposed to be doing. Not sulking around because some kid died the other day, not refusing to wield a weapon just because you're some shitty ass pacifist or some shit. You're supposed to _kill _people — that's what we're here for."

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" Celeste snaps. The girl has become somewhat protective of Evander, which only makes Seamus like her even less than he already did; to him, she is merely a District One brat who has been told all her life that she could be great if she closed her eyes and wished for it really really hard. She doesn't know _shit_ about the real world, having been pampered by her parents and friends all her life, and Seamus can't _wait_ for her to finally learn her lesson.

"No, _you_ shut the fuck up, actually," Seamus counters, forgetting about Marius for a second. He turns on his heels, pointing at Celeste with his bloodied knife. "Mercia and I have been doing most of the killing as of lately — why shouldn't we just kick you out of the alliance and keep the Cornucopia to ourselves?"

"Because that's the stupidest fucking thing you could possibly do, you crackhead," Celeste retorts. The girl has pulled one of her knives out threateningly, and Evander is grasping his sword, too. "I'm honestly tired of you trying to terrorize us like we're scoundrels from your District or some shit. Pay us the respect we deserve, then _we_ may consider letting you stay after acting like such a fucking _lunatic_. There really was no need in bringing the kid back just to _torture_ him, and you know that full well."

"So what if we did?" Mercia replies defensively. "We thought you guys would want to join in on the fun, too."

Evander lets out an exhausted laugh and shakes his head. "God, you two really are by-the-book psychos, aren't you?" The boy walks up to Seamus, placing the tip of his sword underneath Seamus's chin. Evander then offers him a sarcastic smile and adds, "I'd be happy to kill you if it puts your mind at peace about me."

Seamus gulps, but doesn't move. He is still grasping his knife tightly, his fist trembling ever so lightly. Mercia just stares at Evander in surprise, having deemed the boy unable of doing such a thing until then, and Celeste does something like a smile of contempt before pointing her own knife at her, almost as though daring the girl from Four to try and hurt Evander just to see what may happen next. Marius, exhausted and confused, seems to have passed out from all the bleeding, which bothers Seamus more than anything else right now.

"Now, I've had enough of your bullshit," Evander continues. "I'm going to let you go because I _am_ better than you — I don't give a flying fuck whether you live or you die, but I don't want to be the one to kill you. And I'm sure Celeste here feels pretty much the same way about you." He tilts his head towards his ally, and the girl offers her District partner a supporting, somewhat cheeky smile. Evander then looks back at Seamus and nods his head, like an emperor seeing a gladiator off after sparing his life. "_Go_."

Seamus glances towards Mercia in search of support, but the girl seems to ignore him for some reason. He considers his options for a second — he could try and go on a killing rampage, but Evander would finish him off before he could even perforate his lower abdomen with his knife. He could leave like the boy said, but that would essentially make him a coward; he contemplates the possibility of committing suicide in front of the three of them, but he can't really see the point in it aside from the dramatic innuendo that the gesture would entail.

Ultimately, he just offers the boy an ambivalent smile and backs away gently, his hands up in defeat and his expression a relentlessly cheeky one.

"All right," he says finally. "I'll leave. Just let me grab — "

"_Go_," Evander repeats hoarsely, in a tone that even shocks Seamus a little. The boy is three years his junior, but he currently looks as thwarting and as imposing as a twenty-year-old would.

"Very well then," Seamus sighs, and offers his three allies a dramatic bow. "_Au revoir_!"

And so he trots off, smirking and leaving the three Careers equally dumbfounded by his sudden exit.

* * *

**Drew Coleson — 11:00 AM**

Shit, he thinks to himself as he wanders through the streets of the Arena, he really shouldn't have killed Kai.

He knows that something has changed between him and Emmaline. He had never intended for the girl to act all head over heels for him once they got to the Arena, but she had gone from acting all confident and nearly happy once they realized they had made it past the Bloodbath, to silently obliging to whatever Drew asked her to do after Kai's death. And it's not like she's in mourning — she really valued Kai's friendship, sure, but they're in the Hunger Games and they _knew_ they were going to lose their allies sooner or later. No, the foundation of the wall that Emmaline has built between the two of them is not grief, but rather sheer_ fear_ — Drew has told her time and again that he didn't give Kai the poisonous berries on purpose, but he knows that Emmaline also happens to be smart enough to read past his half-formed lies.

He halts on his feet when he hears footsteps approaching, and immediately hides behind one of the many fountains scattered around the _piazza_ that he has just reached. He almost laughs when he realizes who the other tribute is — he thought he had joined the Career pack, but they must have fallen out or at least kicked him off, because Seamus is currently fuming about 'that Celeste bitch' as he trods through the _piazza_, a single knife in his hand and his face red in anger. He could kill him now, Drew tells himself with a half-smile; in fact he _should_ kill him, right? Emmaline would definitely approve of him getting rid of someone like Seamus. He's cruel, petty, and a little scary too, and Drew gathers that he might even be doing the other tributes a favor by killing him before someone else does.

Perhaps killing him may even become the key to Emmaline's forgiveness, he reasons with a half-smile as he clutches his knife against his chest.

He observes Seamus's erratic walking for a few seconds. The boy looks a little lost in his own anger, which probably makes him an easy target; however, the fact that he's holding a knife in his hand does make him more dangerous than an unarmed foe would be. Drew gulps quietly, deciding that he will tackle him from behind, which isn't exactly courteous or even right, but he gathers that Seamus would do exactly the same thing if he were in Drew's shoes. Seamus is a bit taller than him, but also lankier and significantly thinner, and Drew deems himself strong enough to reduce him and beat him to a pulp, graciously finishing him off with his knife before Seamus could strike back. It has all been perfectly laid out in his head, and Drew feels confident enough to carry his impromptu plan out; he clasps his knife and mutters a few words of self-encouragement to himself as Seamus wheels around and decides to exit the _piazza_ and enter a smaller, darker alley.

"All right," he whispers to himself, gripping his knife tightly. "Let's go."

And so he lunges towards the boy, running like there is no tomorrow (because there really might not be one, actually) and thrusts himself against Seamus before the boy can register what is going on.

"_Fuck_!" Seamus screams out, and immediately attempts to stab Drew with his knife; the other boy, however, has swiftly blocked his hand with his knee and is now punching him hard and fast, making Seamus's skull ram against the cobbled streets of the Arena loudly. Seamus howls in pain, but ultimately manages to push Drew's knee away; as soon as he does, he stabs him on the side with his knife, making Drew wince in pain. The boy keeps punching him and even scratching Seamus's cheeks with his nails, ignoring the blood that now spurges from his side; Seamus, on the other hand, stabs him a second time before losing his conscience.

Drew leans back, panting and with his entire upper body covered in both his and Seamus's blood, and quietly waits for the cannon shot that should announce Seamus's death as soon as the boy stops breathing. And when he finally hears it his face breaks into a whole-hearted grin; his wounds and the blood loss seem to even hurt a little less as he stares at Seamus's limp body before leaning against the wall behind him. He is bleeding profusely, and he knows that there is no point in trying to heal his wounds — Emmaline took what little they had left of their first aid kit, and he highly doubts that she will suddenly come back to help him after what he did. In a way, he almost feels as though killing Seamus has helped him atone for Kai's death; the idea of finally being forgiven by Emmaline even brings a small grin to his face as his eyelids fall closed.

There is still a smile on his lips when his heart stops beating a few seconds later.

* * *

**Evander Luxx — 3:00 PM**

The uncertainty of not knowing who has died once a cannon is shot is killing Evander. It's not because he feels particularly attached to any of the tributes, but rather because the idea of Seamus coming back with brand new allies and killing them off horrifies him. He knows he did the right thing and that Marius's torturing was uncalled for, but he still feels a certain unease as Mercia lectures them on how they should just kill the kid off when she wakes up from her nap. She hasn't slept for the past forty hours or so, and Celeste has finally deemed it appropriate for her to get some sleep while she patrols the area surrounding the Cornucopia. Evander, on the other hand, is supposed to make an inventory, as their provisions are running short and Mercia doesn't want to rely on having to hunt for their own food in an urban Arena.

And so he finds himself stacking up boxes and supervising their own food like he's some sort of supermarket clerk instead of a Career tribute in the midst of the Hunger Games, and Evander can't help but feel a little amused by the situation in spite of it all.

Marius is sitting nearby, his hands and feet still tied. He has a black eye and the cut on his cheek, made by Seamus's knife a few hours earlier, looks as though it might get infected soon if it doesn't get treated properly, and Evander has to gulp and offer the boy a miserable smile before returning to his boxes and supply backpacks. He knows that he shouldn't feel guilty because it is his duty to kill tributes, and he hasn't even laid a finger on Marius yet, but the sight of the boy, all defeated and miserable, makes his insides churn with guilt. Emma would probably tell him that he's too good a person to be a Career, and Luster would beg for him to let the boy go because the way Mercia and Seamus had captured him and brought him back was unfair and cruel. His father would probably tell him to finish the boy off and to be merciful, but Evander doesn't know whether he has it in him to kill Marius. He looks back at the boy with a miserable expression on his face, then glances towards Mercia, who appears to be fast asleep but is still clutching her spear.

"Evander," Marius croaks finally, his voice hoarse from not having drunk any water for the past twenty-four hours or so. "Evander, please."

Evander frowns, feeling more and more distressed by the knowledge of what is about to happen.

"What?" He whispers in return, leaning closer.

"Please kill me if that's what you want to do," Marius mutters, closing his eyes for a second before looking directly at Evander again. "_Please_. I know you're better than them."

Evander gulps, but eventually shakes his head. "I can't. I really can't, I'm sorry."

Marius's lips twitch in disappointment, and the boy averts his eyes miserably before sighing, "All right, I suppose. I had to try." His eyes have welled up with tears at this point, and Evander knows that he should find it all absolutely pathetic and even a little disgusting, but he can't help but feel his heart shrinking at the sight of someone feeling so completely and utterly lost.

Evander looks back at the resources they have left, and an idea crosses his mind as swiftly as thunder. There were only twelve tributes left last night, and the cannon has been shot twice today, meaning that they're down to the Final Ten now. He will have to leave Mercia and Celeste soon anyway, and he might as well do it in his own terms — he quickly considers the possibility of grabbing a few supplies and making a run for it, freeing Marius while he's at it, and even though the idea scares him he really can see no other way out of his alliance with Celeste and Mercia. He likes Celeste, or at least he respects her more than he respects Mercia, but he would very much rather leave her to clean up the mess when she comes back and finds Marius and him gone, rather than watch them torture and kill the boy and then come up with a plan in order to ditch them.

He looks back at the boy, considering his options, then picks up his knife and places it against Marius's hands; the boy's cheeks suddenly go pale, but he looks up at him with a somewhat understanding expression, perhaps expecting Evander to fulfill his prior request. Evander places his index finger against his lips, and Marius nods quietly, assuming his fate and even relaxing a little at the thought of being put to rest at last; instead, Evander cuts the ropes tying his feet and hands loose and motions for the boy from Two to leave at once.

Marius, visibly dumbfounded, just tilts his head and raises his eyebrows in sheer shock.

"What — ?" He starts, but Evander immediately covers his mouth, placing his knife under his chin.

"_Go_," he whispers for the second time today. "Go find your allies. I'm leaving too, but I need to get some supplies first."

Marius gulps, but doesn't hesitate again — he quickly gets on his feet and casts one last incredulous glance back at Evander before running away from the Cornucopia, perhaps even faster than he did during the Bloodbath. Evander exhales, feeling the weight of the decision that he has just taken for the two of them on his shoulders, then quietly stands up and stuffs a backpack with food, refilled bottles of water, and a sleeping bag, before placing his jacket inside it and zipping it up again. He takes a pair of sunglasses from the pile in front of Mercia; after fastening his sword around his waist, he casts one last glance towards the girl before scurrying away, too.

He could have killed her, he tells himself as he trots down the Roman Forum on his way to the luminous, enthrallingly beautiful city that laid in front of him. But he knows that Celeste will take great pleasure in getting rid of her when the right time comes.

* * *

**All right, I _know_ that this chapter focused on a relatively small amount of tributes — but I felt like I needed to delve into all six of them a little more before finishing their arcs off, so that's that. The rest of the ensemble will be back in the following chapter, I promise! Ahhh I can't believe we're so far into the Games omg I feel so accomplished rn. Anyway — hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I can't wait to know how you feel about the way things are going down!**

**Fallen tributes so far:**

**24\. Sansa Winter (District 3)**

**23\. Dorian Galter (District 8)**

**22\. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6)**

**21\. Casireida Lye (District 11)**

**20\. Cain Lewis (District 11)**

**19\. ****Elizabeth Starr (District 12)**

**18\. Agnes Colman (District 9)**

**17\. Dorcas Findlay (District 2)**

**16\. Kai Anderson (District 4)**

**15\. Arya Wolf (District 5)**

**14\. Ted Berninger (District 9)**

**13\. Eddie Thame (District 7)**

**12\. Seamus Hay (District 12)**

**11\. Drew Coleson (District 6)**

**Remaining alliances & tributes:**

**• Evander Luxx (D1M) **

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M)**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M), Jonas Slaine (D5M)**

**• Mercia Hollis (D4F)**

**• Emmaline MacArthur (D10F)**

**• Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M)**

**• Tee Reynolds (D8F)**


	20. Day Five

**Day Five**

* * *

**Milo Tesla — 9:00 AM**

Milo almost smiles when he wakes up and notices that Jonas's soft brown curls are brushing against his chin. Almost, because he suddenly remembers that the little boy sleeping next to him, huddled like a little brother, _isn't_ a member of his family, and that he has only known him for the past couple of weeks. And, most importantly, that they will eventually have to face the possibility of splitting up and ending their alliance, because Milo cannot bear the thought of hurting him, but he knows that they're too far into the Games for an alliance to work.

They are down to the Final Ten, and Milo knows what that means better than anyone else. It means that the Careers will become even more ruthless, and that even those who felt more reluctant towards the idea of killing other people may even begin to consider the possibility of doing so if it means getting to go home in the end. Hell, Milo himself has been racking his head about it ever since he realized he stood a solid chance at winning — and, for the first time since the Games began, he wonders what he's going to do if it's down to him and Jonas. Would he let the boy kill him? _He_ would never be able to kill a twelve-year-old who reminded him so much of his little sister Margot, and he doesn't think Jonas capable of hurting him, either. He's a healer, not a killer; his childish soul may have been tarnished by the Hunger Games, but he knows that at the end of the day he is but a sweet, caring twelve-year-old who always puts other people's well-being in front of his own. He took care of Ted until his last dying breath, and he has been nothing but a loyal friend and ally to Milo ever since the Games began.

He just sighs and rubs his eyes, guiltily realizing what the Games have turned them all into.

"Hey, Jo," he pats the boy's shoulder gently. "I think we should get some breakfast and then try and fetch some stuff from the abandoned market we found yesterday."

"Hm." Jonas cracks an eye open and offers Milo a little, sleepy smile. "Okay, but I wanna go see what's inside the abandoned temple first, all right?"

Milo sighs. They have been camping inside a colossal church ever since Ted died — he has always found it a little creepy, with its walls crammed with ancient paintings and Baroque-looking statues hovering above them, but they had both gathered that it would be the safest place to establish themselves in after having spent the last few days wandering through the streets of the Arena. The stylish architecture and the complex disposition of the place intrigues Milo to no end — he doesn't know whether it is an exact replica of an ancient city that had served as an inspiration for this year's Gamemakers, or if they had simply tossed them into the remnants of one of those cities that had been destroyed by the nuclear war that preceded the creation of Panem. Either way, Milo had never seen anything quite as stunning as the half-chapel, half-palace that they had been living in for the past couple of days, and he feels thoroughly impressed by the amount of detail that the Gamemakers have thrown into it this year. It _is_ a Quarter Quell, after all, Milo tells himself as he pushes his specs up, marveling at the painting of a man touching another man's hand with his index finger on the ceiling above them.

He even smiles a little when Jonas offers him half a cookie. "So much for a healthy breakfast, right?"

"Mom and Dad would always say that breakfast's the most important meal of the day," Jonas explains as he munches on the cookie — slowly, relishing on every bite, trying to trick his stomach into thinking that he is eating a whole meal instead of a mere digestive cookie. "I hope they're proud of how we've been doing so far. I think they'd really, really like you, honestly."

"Do you?" Milo smiles a little at the idea of getting to meet his younger friend's parents, of letting them know that he owes the boy his life and his sanity as of right now. He tries to avoid the grim thought of meeting them during his Victor tour, hugging a devastated mother and shaking an equally upset father's hand. He tries to shake the thought off immediately, and adds, "Margot would really like you, too. Now that I think about it, you'd make a _great_ brother-in-law, you know. I'd be more than happy to set you two up."

Jonas pulls a face at him, visibly disgusted by the idea of marrying his friend's sister — or anyone at all, for that matter — and then shakes his head vigorously.

"That's gross," he states, brushing a few crumbs off his shirt before standing up. "I'm never getting married. Supposing I get to grow old at all, of course."

"Hey, don't say that." Milo frowns, realizing that his ally is just as acutely aware of the position that they're currently in as he is. He stands up and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He is almost a foot taller than Jonas, and the gesture comes off as both endearing and even a little threatening. "You've got to fight, all right? Remember what Ted told us — we've got to do whatever it takes to make it back alive."

"Yeah, but if I live, you die, when you're the one who saved me from dying in the Bloodbath to begin with," Jonas replies, a sad smile on his face. "I just don't think that's fair, honestly."

Milo gulps, lowering his gaze quietly. Jonas's implacable logic leaves him both disheartened and upset, and he quietly wishes that he would act a little more like his past self — careless, optimistic, childishly enthusiastic about everything that surrounds him. He is an entirely different person now, and that is precisely why Milo knows that there is no talking him out his newfound pessimism. He just gives the boy's shoulder a very gentle squeeze before grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, expecting Jonas to do the same thing with his.

"All right then," he declares finally, sighing quietly. "I'm gonna head south and try to find some supplies by the river, all right? You can either stay here or head up north and try to do the same. Either way, let's meet by the old church that we found on our way here by, say, four or five in the afternoon?"

"Sure," Jonas nods quietly, then offers Milo the faintest of smiles — probably knowing that his ally needs it more than he does right now. He wraps his arms around Milo and hugs him tightly, whispering, "Thank you for everything, Mi."

Milo's heart breaks when he realizes that Jonas has just used the very nickname that Margot had coined for him when they were little, and he has to fight back the tears when the boy trots off, waving him goodbye.

He will see him later, he reminds himself as he makes his way down the marble staircase, and everything will be fine.

It _has _to be, because Milo may never recover from it otherwise.

* * *

**Mercia Hollis — 11:30 AM**

"I JUST CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FUCKING _LET _HIM GO."

"I didn't _let _him go, for fuck's sake — I'm just as surprised as you are. Just keep your tone down, will you?"

Mercia is fuming, red with anger and reeling around the Cornucopia. She hadn't given Evander's absence much thought at first when she woke up earlier that day — until she realized that Marius was supposed to be tied up somewhere close, and that the boy was nowhere to be seen. Seething with anger, she had confronted Celeste right away, only to find out that the girl had come back shortly after the daily Capitol announcement, with Evander and Marius and chunk of their supplies already gone.

"What if they killed each other or something?" Celeste offers vaguely, shrugging her shoulders. Mercia can't believe the way she seems to care _so little_ about what has happened; she can even sense that she feels a little pleased by their third ally's sudden absence. When Mercia scowls at her, Celeste just rolls her eyes, her fingers gripping the handle of one of her knives discreetly. "What do you want me to _say_, Mercia? I don't give a shit whether Evander's gone or not. The less mouths to feed the better, honestly."

"But he took our fucking supplies with him!" Mercia spits back, pointing her index finger right at Celeste's face. "I was asleep, and _you_ were in charge of them."

"Look, I'm not your fucking babysitter," Celeste counters, taking her knife out and swiftly placing it underneath Mercia's chin. "Understood? _You_ told Evander to take care of our supplies, and I guess the kid just got pissed, killed Marius because he didn't want the kid to suffer, and then scurried off before I came back."

"Fuck off," Mercia replies, gripping the handle of her sword threateningly. "You know as well as I do that the cannon would have woken me up if he had actually been killed. That or the aircraft that comes and collects the corpses once they're dead."

"And what exactly do you want me to do, Mercia? They're gone either way, and this is getting pretty fucking exhausting, if you ask me."

"Shut the fuck up," Mercia breathes. Finnick has told her time and again that the Capitol sponsors heavily dislike tributes who cuss, but she couldn't care less about them — she is _furious_, and Celeste is the only person that she can take it out with right now.

She pushes the girl away a bit too violently, Celeste's knife scraping the tip of her chin. Celeste just stares at her, not quite believing what her only ally has just done, then suddenly jabs her knife into Mercia's shoulder.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_?" Mercia screams, letting out a loud howl of pain and forgetting about Marius and Evander and even the Hunger Games for a second. She gulps hard before unsheathing her sword and throwing several jabs at Celeste. The girl manages to dodge them swiftly, and Mercia even lets out a little frustrated scream when she playfully toys around with another knives in an almost threatening way. Mercia doesn't recognize the feeling at the bottom of her gut at first, but she grimaces in horror when she realizes that she's feeling _scared_ — scared of dying, scared of not winning, scared of the possibility of having tricked herself into thinking that she was good enough to do this when, in reality, she was nothing but a mediocre, pampered little girl from District Four.

She just aims her sword at Celeste's abdomen and pierces it hard and fast, smiling a little when the girl lets out an unexpected yet surprisingly pleasing scream of pain as she falls to her knees. Mercia laughs a bit too loudly as her ally contorts in front of her and tries to stop the bleeding, her vision blurring with every second that goes by, and she even takes a seat in front of her before extracting the knife from her own shoulder, grimacing at the sight of her own shoulder blade underneath all the flesh that has been ripped open by Celeste's knife.

"God, that looks pretty awful," she mumbles to herself distractedly, mentally going through their remaining supplies — she gathers that there's enough iodine and bandages for her to take care of it after Celeste dies, and clenches her teeth and offers her former ally an exaggeratedly big smile as the girl's face contorts in pain.

"Fuck you — " Celeste mutters, her eyelids looking all heavy all of a sudden. The girl clutches her abdomen before adding, "I hope Evander gives you _h__ell_."

Mercia just laughs distractedly and even hoots a little when the cannon signals Celeste's death, and gives her dead corpse a little kick in the stomach before heading back to their supplies in order to find their first aid kit. When she realizes that she is finally on her own, the girl can't help but grin in sheer satisfaction. Perhaps it was for the best, she tells herself, since Celeste had essentially become useless at that point.

"Fucking finally," she mumbles to herself, before unscrewing a bottle of iodine that Evander had decided to leave behind.

* * *

**Fred Blake — 4:00 PM**

Fred hasn't been feeling great as of lately. Eddie's death was a harsh blow for the two of them, and Marius's disappearance has kept them on edge for the past couple of days — they ultimately resolved that it was best to let go and try to survive on their own, as egotistic as it may have sounded in Fred's otherwise relentlessly just ears; he had quickly realized that their supplies were running short and that he had to protect Florence above anything else, and that was ultimately why they left what had been their campsite until then. He has been giving their relationship a lot of thought as of lately — not because he questions the nature of it, since he came to terms with the idea of not growing old with her a long time ago, but rather how things would work if they were to become the last remaining tributes. He knows that the Capitol isn't taking the star-crossed lovers bullshit anymore, but the possibility of them being able to survive together comes back every now and then, nagging him from time to time. He imagines living a peaceful life with Florence by his side, in the Victors Village, taking care of their loved ones and getting to grow old together. It saddens him to think that he will never _really_ get to know Florence, not in the way he would know her after a life or at least a decent, long-term relationship with her, and he wishes they had a lifetime ahead of them instead of a mere handful of days. It is painful to even think about it, but Fred has come to the conclusion that he would very much rather make sure _she_ got to live a fulfilling life on her own, even though he knows fully well that her survival would immediately rule out his odds at winning and getting to go home.

He has acted extremely self-consciously ever since they got to the Arena, but he can't help but squeeze Florence's hand tightly as the two of them walk together. When she turns around and offers him a questioning smile, he just places his hands on her cheeks and gives her a long, quiet kiss on the lips, like the ones they shared before the Games as they sat together and stargazed from the rooftop of the Training Center.

Florence smiles against his lips, her eyes still closed after Fred pulls away. "What was that for?"

He shrugs, a meek smile playing on his lips. It hasn't been a sad kiss, not really, but the possibility of it being their last almost make him grimace.

"I just felt like it," he replies finally, before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He lets out a little cough, which makes Florence frown — he has been doing that a lot as of lately, probably due to the water shortage or the way they have been rationing their food to a worrying extreme for the past couple of days. Florence frowns worriedly and touches the back of her hand to his forehead, and Fred just laughs and pulls her closer. "God, you're acting like my mom right now."

"I'm just worried," she replies, biting her lower lip. "Are you feeling all right? We can go back if you don't feel up to this, you know. There's only nine of us left, they probably wouldn't even know where to find us even if they tried."

"No, it's better if we keep moving around, at least for now." Eddie's death has scarred them both deeply, and the idea of staying put and being ambushed by the Careers makes Fred's insides churn in dismay. He shakes his head quietly, then nods his head towards the end of the cobbled street that they have been navigating for the past half hour or so. "Is that a — a river?"

"Oh!" Florence brightens up instantly. "Is it? Oh, I hope it is!"

The two of them hurry to the riverbank, marveling at the sight of the body of water in front of them. It probably isn't safe to drink from it, but Fred still grins at the sight of little fishes swimming underneath the crystal-clear water — he isn't a great fisher, but he is almost sure that they will be able to catch a couple of them if they try hard enough.

"I can't believe there's fishes and everything!" Florence exclaims, a delighted smile plastered on her face as she kneels down to stare at the little fishes, prodding one of them gently with a stray stick. "This is _great_, Fred!"

"It is," he agrees, a half-smile on his face. He looks down at Florence and the little fishes swimming around her stick with a fond smile, wishing that he could stay right there and then forever, instead of returning to the Games's brutality.

That is, until a sharp cry pierces through the air, making them both jump with a start and scurry underneath the bridge. They have learned to run and hide over the past few days, and they will be taking no risks at this point of the Hunger Games.

"What was that?" Florence whispers, huddling closer to him. She squints around in the darkness, trying to figure out what is going on. Fred just motions for her to remain silent, and the girl ducks her head and presses her eyes closed.

He recognizes a young male voice, pleading for someone else's mercy. Jonas, he quickly thinks. The other remaining boys — Marius, Milo, and Evander, if the cannon shot that they had heard earlier that day hadn't signalled one of them off as dead — are older and have much deeper voices. It horrifies him to think that someone may be about to kill little Jonas in the same taunting way that the Careers had killed Eddie a few days ago; he closes his eyes and hugs Florence close, letting out a quiet whimper when a loud _thud_ ensues after couple of minutes of panting and fighting. A cannon is heard shortly afterwards, and Fred only realizes that he is crying when Florence points it out in a faint whisper.

"Oh," he replies, rubbing his eyes quietly. "They're — I sometimes feel like they genuinely _want_ us to go insane."

Florence just hugs him closer and presses a silent kiss to his forehead. "I know. But we've got to stay strong, all right?"

Fred lets out a sigh, but eventually nods his head silently. The two of them stay huddled together underneath the bridge for the next ten minutes or so, and Fred only decides to slide back to the street when he is almost certain that whoever attacked Jonas is long gone. He offers Florence his hand, and the two of them crawl back to the surface together, their expressions as somber as they had been the night that they found Eddie's mutilated body near the fire that he and Marius had started while they went looking for food.

Fred has to close his eyes when he spots Jonas's dead body floating down the river, his light brown curls grazed only by stray leaves and sticks like the one Florence had wielded only seconds before they heard his first scream.

* * *

**Tee Reynolds — 8:00 PM**

Tee manages to scurry out of Mercia's sight by a mere few seconds, and she just pants and even cries a little as she hugs her knees and hides her face, refusing to give the Capitol the pleasure of seeing her cry.

She doesn't know who has died today, but she has counted two cannon shots, which means that they're down to the Final Eight. She had never thought she would make it this far, and she still can't quite believe she may even stand a solid chance at going home — she knows there's nothing she can do against Mercia or Celeste or even the huge but apparently good-hearted boy from One, but she begins to consider the possibility of letting them kill each other off while she simply watches and hopes for the best. She knows it's a bit lowly of her, and that the Capitol simply doesn't _want_ a plain twelve-year-old with a somewhat clean conscience to become the Victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell, but they will inevitably have to suck it up and accept her if it happens. She allows herself to imagine how her Victor interview would go — Octavius would ask her all about Arya and the brief time that the two girls had spent together in the Arena; Tee, in spite of having loathed her only ally with all her heart for most of their alliance, would tell tales of sudden kinship and even a loose friendship. She would visit Arya's friends during her Victor tour, and she would give them some money for them to get by. And, above anything else, she dreams of going home and showing her little brother into their flamboyant new home at the Victors' Village — she even allows herself to imagine the expression of genuine delight in Lex's big green eyes, and she smiles at the idea of being able to send him back to school and watch him become the studious, gentle boy that he undoubtedly would have been if it hadn't been for their parents' untimely passing. She may even consider the possibility of going back to school herself, she realizes, and she smiles at the idea of a life of luxury and relaxation, her only job being mentoring a couple of kids for a few weeks a year. She could read, she could paint, she could idly watch the days roll by with no worries other than looking decent enough for the Reaping and telling the poor kids from Eight who were reaped in the future Hunger Games that their chances were slim, but that they could make it just like she had. It is all laid out and well within her grasp by now, she realizes as she fiddles with the zip of her jacket.

She can't believe she's enjoying the possibility of becoming another piece in the Games's wicked machinery, but the idea of _surviving_ is the only thing that can keep her going right now.

She looks up at the sky when the Panem anthem echoes through the Arena. She doesn't know who died today, and it saddens her to see little Jonas's face up in the sky; at least until she realizes that he wasn't _that _little and that the two of them were, in fact, the same age up until he died. Tee can't quite wrap her head around the fact that she's only twelve years old — she feels as though she has lived through an entire lifetime already, and she promptly realizes that there's a certain tiredness to living that only an extremely ancient person would feel under normal circumstances, and that she has been feeling for a while now. She hugs her legs closer and gapes at the sky when Celeste's face appears above her; the image of the District One tribute hovers tauntingly over the Arena for a few seconds, then disappears when Tee least expects it. She had always thought that Celeste would be their year's victor — she was a decent killer, but not an overly vicious one; a natural-born leader, but also an empathetic girl who knew that there was no reason why she should keep her fellow tributes from dying as quickly and as decently as possible. And yet she is dead now, and Tee isn't. Not yet, at least. And there's only seven tributes standing between her and the possibility of growing old, of seeing her little brother again, of living a fulfilling life in which she will be free to do whatever she pleases. Or at least that was what she thinks will happen once the Games are over; the victor goes home and lives a life of self-discovery and relaxation, trying not to think about the Games and everything that had happened in them. In spite of being an extremely mature twelve-year-old, Tee's imagination can only go so far in that sense — there is an entire layer to darkness, ruthlessness and disappointment that she hasn't discovered just yet, and the idea of a life outside the Arena is more than enough for her as of right now.

Tee licks her lips, her eyes darting around for a potential source of water. Her lips are cracked and she has been feeling a little weak as of lately, but she decides that she will take care of it tomorrow — she is too exhausted to try and figure out what her next moves will be, and she huddles into a dark corner of the alley that she has decided to sleep in tonight. She clutches her crystal knife against her chest and closes her eyes shut, thinking of home and little Lex and the way he will grin and hug her and even cry a little when — _if_ — she makes it home, and she almost feels as though she can touch his rosy cheeks with the tips of her fingers already, if only for the briefest seconds. It's every man for himself now, after all.

Girl, she corrects herself before falling asleep. It's every _girl_ for herself now, and she is about to prove the remaining tributes what she is worth.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN. Who killed Jonas? And why? Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. ****I really can't believe we've made it this far already — we're down to the Final Eight and I honestly have no idea who's gonna win? I've been toying around with three or four different scenarios, but I _really_ don't know what's going to happen next — I'd planned everything up to the Final Ten, then thought I'd rather follow my instincts and improvise who died from there onwards. I hope you liked this chapter, though!**

**Fallen tributes so far:**

**24\. Sansa Winter (District 3)**

**23\. Dorian Galter (District 8)**

**22\. Anouk Gainsbourg (District 6)**

**21\. Casireida Lye (District 11)**

**20\. Cain Lewis (District 11)**

**19\. ****Elizabeth Starr (District 12)**

**18\. Agnes Colman (District 9)**

**17\. Dorcas Findlay (District 2)**

**16\. Kai Anderson (District 4)**

**15\. Arya Wolf (District 5)**

**14\. Ted Berninger (District 9)**

**13\. Eddie Thame (District 7)**

**12\. Seamus Hay (District 12)**

**11\. Drew Coleson (District 6)**

**10\. Celeste Duval (District 1)**

**9\. Jonas Slaine (District 5)**

**Remaining alliances & tributes:**

**• Evander Luxx (D1M)**

**• Marius Harlowe (D2M)**

**• Florence Maugham (D7F), Fred Blake (D10M)**

**• Milo Tesla (D3M)**

**• Mercia Hollis (D4F)**

**• Emmaline MacArthur (D10F)**

**• Tee Reynolds (D8F)**


End file.
